


That Secret We Never Knew

by HelloParkingMeter3



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 'Alter Ego', Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, BAMF!Draco, BAMF!Hermione, Defeater, Draco has issues from his past, Draco has tattoos, Draco is in a band, Hardcore!Draco, Harry's waaay too curious, Hermione knows, Knuckle Puck, Like La Dispute, M/M, Punk!Draco, References to numerous bands, She always did, Social Constructs are Similar to Canon, and piercings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-09 06:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 42,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3239690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelloParkingMeter3/pseuds/HelloParkingMeter3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Draco rubbed at his eyes and pushed back his now disheveled hair from his face, revealing the existence of a silver bar going through his right eyebrow.<br/>'Oh my God, Malfoy. You have an eyebrow piercing!?'"<br/>Or<br/>Draco's in a band and Harry finds out about it after he sees one of Draco's hidden piercings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe you guys haven't thought about a punk!Draco with piercings and tattoos and plays in a band with a bunch of people his father will never hear about.  
> Well, until Harry gets into the picture  
> This was fucking with me for like 3 days before I sat down and wrote it.  
> If there are any errors, just let me know, and I'll try to correct them.  
> Hope you like it!  
> (By the way I don't own any song mentioned in this story. Just so you know. I have no song writing capabilities.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Draco rubbed at his eyes and pushed back his hair from his face, revealing a silver bar going through his right eyebrow._  
>  “Oh my God, Malfoy. You have an eyebrow piercing?!”
> 
> Or  
> Draco's in a band and Harry finds out when he sees his eyebrow piercing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously can't believe that none of you have done Punk!Draco with tattoos and piercings and singing in a band.  
> This was stewing in my head for two weeks before I sat down and wrote it.
> 
> By the way, I own nothing but the plotline. JK Rowling owns everything else.  
> Enjoy peeps.

It was rather bright that morning, and Draco despised it. After the night before, he really didn’t think he could handle that stupid flaming ball hovering portentously in the sky, let alone the maddening cacophony known as his workplace. He was tempted to call in sick today, but that was a rather atypical thing to do. Grudgingly, whilst cursing his father to the high heavens, Draco took 20 minutes to get ready for work, excluding the time it took him to apply makeup and remove his piercings (all 14 visible ones). At 7:30 approximately, Draco finally left his upscale apartment.

He drove his car - motorcycles were for travelling at night - easily avoiding the morning traffic. In central London, traffic was a complete and utter bitch most of the time, but Draco usually had the best of luck with these things. He made it to his office building with 10 minutes to spare - despite his usual ease with daytime congestion, all the stoplights on the way here had decided to all be red - and signed in. Millicent ‘Call-me-Millie’ Bulstrode was at the reception desk, so he gave her a small smile as he collected his daily schedule from her. Millie was in the same school house as him, so she oft believed that her relationship with him was more important than her relationship with other members of staff that may have been in a separate house at Hogwarts. He despised how Hogwarts House politics remained embedded in some people, and he especially resented the posturing he had to put up here. He sighed, glancing at his schedule. He had a meeting today with one of the directors of another company about a possible partnership deal, which meant he would have to work exclusively with _him_ all day.

After catching the elevator to his floor, he marched briskly to his office, a trademark sneer stamped on his features. His posture straightened and he took on a haughty exterior. He was Draco Malfoy - son of Lucius Malfoy, head and founder of Axabrax Corporations. He was a pureblood. All these people were beneath him. Admittedly, Draco really wished he could be home. Sleep sounded incredible at that moment, and he just wanted to blast some music out his speakers. Alas, the horrified looks of his fellow workmates would cause enough problems for him if he did. He certainly didn’t want them finding out his secret. Upon entering his office, he toppled onto the couch by the door. He had only been here for less than ten minutes, and he already wanted to leave.

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath. At that moment, the door to his office burst open and _he_ strode in - Harry Potter, the bane of his natural existence.

“Malfoy, get the fuck up. We have work to do.” Draco snarled at him.

“What in the world, Potter? Can’t you knock first?”

Potter’s expression was blank. “No.”

Draco rolled his eyes. He and Potter had this rivalry since their first year of Hogwarts, where Harry refused Draco’s offer of friendship instead going off with Granger and the Weasel. Currently, he couldn’t say anything bad about Granger for certain reasons, but he could still insult the ridiculous excuse for a pureblood that was Ronald Weasley. Potter was one of several people that still hadn’t gotten over their secondary school years, which jointly saddened and aggravated Draco - Hogwarts had lost all relevance to him the day it finished. It was also the day he got his first piercing - in his eyebrow, but that was another story.

Potter glared down at Draco, who was lying on his couch. “Get up Malfoy, before the Toad comes.”

“You mean -”

“Yes, you asshat. _Her_. Now move. We’ve got shit to do.” Potter turned and walked out of the office. Draco sagged lower into his couch, wishing to die. The company manager that he was meeting with was Dolores Umbridge, a despicable woman whose overall appearance reminded one of a toad. She was the one thing he and Potter could agree on. He scowled. Why did the company have to send Umbridge? They had other, less amphibian, more tolerable people working as directors. Why her? Pulling himself up, he rubbed at his face wearily. He truly hated his job and he knew that any moment now Potter would -

“Malfoy! Hurry the fuck up!”

There it was. This was going to be a long day.

***

The meeting with Umbridge was terrible; despite obtaining the partnership agreement, the Toad was relentless in trying to piss the two of them off. It got to the point where Potter and Draco had each planned to commit either homicide or suicide. Draco didn’t give two shits as to which option would eventually be chosen. Luckily, the meeting finished before either Draco or Potter got arrested or they managed to take their own lives.

Stressed out and in desperate need of a break, Draco grabbed his iPod, earphones and wallet, and vacated the premises as fast as he could for lunch. Potter didn’t even make a comment about his position in the company.

As soon as he stepped outside the building, he let out a breath of relief - a sense of freedom pouring over him in waves. He loosened his tie, and rolled up his shirtsleeves, revealing the tattoos on his arms. Draco then tousled his hair and adopted a slight slouch, as opposed to the stiff conceited disposition he was forced to appropriate. Plugging in his earphones, becoming absorbed by the music, and cranking up the volume, Draco travelled down the main street, contemplating where to eat. He had no particular preference in mind until Granger called him, asking to meet at Pavlov’s - an urbane bistro that Draco and his friends frequented. It wasn’t a place where people asked questions; with the growing reputation of the band, it was a relief to find a place where he wouldn’t be bothered. Upon entering the building, around ten minutes after Granger contacted him, he located her in a private booth, vanilla chai latte in hand, sipping demurely, in sharp contrast to her personality, which amused him.

“Draco darling!” she exulted as she saw him, smiling. Granger was always so good to him. She was one of the few people he knew who had let go of secondary school completely, which he was eternally grateful for; He deeply regretted all the distress he caused her at Hogwarts because of her status as a ‘mudblood’ or, in more polite terms, a scholarship student.

“‘Lo Granger.”

“It’s Hermione, Draco, You’ve known me too long to call me that. It makes me sound like a male.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said that you weren’t going to let gender associated labels affect you.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Whatever, Dray. Now sit down.” He pouted at her shortening of his name.

“What did you want to see me for, _Hermione_?”

“That’s better. And it’s about tonight’s gig.”

“Ah.”

Hermione was the manager of Draco’s band. It was a rather impetuous role for the smartest girl at Hogwarts College of Secondary Education, however, one wouldn’t expect the smartest boy to be the lead singer of a band either. Regardless, here they were.

“I found out that our set list time has been extended by one song, so we need another one.”

“Aw, butt. We haven’t prepared another one though.”

“Just sing one of your older ones. Do a throwback. The fans always love those.”

“‘Kay. From what album then? ‘cause I sure as hell ain’t choosing one now.”

She grinned. “ _Wilderness_. Track 5. ‘ _Harder Harmonies_ ’.”

“You’re obsessed with that song, aren’t you?”

“Draaay, you know how much I love that song. Plus it’s from one of your best albums."

“That gives me such confidence for our new stuff.”

“Pshaw, Dray. Your new stuff is good. It’s just that ‘ _Harder Harmonies_ ’ is a personal favourite.”

“Alright, Herms. We’ll sing that one. But you’re telling the guys.”

She smiled and leant forward to kiss his cheek. “Thanks Dray. Now, let’s eat.”

So they continued talking, pausing only to order and eat lunch. Soon it was time for Draco to return to work. Hermione proceeded to help him ‘fix up’ his work clothes, covering his tattoos and neatening up his hair (“Douchifying it more like,” Draco muttered). He returned to his workplace feeling a lot calmer than when he left.

He was free, schedule clear for another half hour or so; but since his allocated lunch time was over, he came back as he should. Potter, however, was surprised to see him.

“You’re back already, Malfoy?”

“Yes. My lunch break ended didn’t it? Why wouldn’t I be back?”

“You don’t have anything for half an hour.”

“I wasn’t going to break the rules, Potter. Why would I do that?”

“Your daddy is company head.”

“My _daddy_ made those rules Potter. I know very well not to break them. We have been over this before, haven’t we?” Potter was speechless after that. Draco sneered at him.

“Wow, Potter. When you’re arguing with me, your arguments sound ridiculously like the Weasel’s.”

“He has a name, Malfoy.”

“So do I, but you don’t use it.”

“We’re in a professional setting.”

“So? I call Millie by her first name, along with Daphne and Cormac and Anthony, among others.”

“They’re all Slytherins, Malfoy.”

“Anthony Goldstein was Ravenclaw, Potter, and you know full well that Cormac McLaggen was Gryffindor. You seem awfully stuck on Hogwarts House politics.”

“And you’re not? That was our life for 7 years. In fact, for some of us, it still affects our futures.”

Draco was stumped by that, but carried on. “ _Au contraire_ , dear Potter. Hogwarts stopped mattering to me as soon as McGonagall announced our 7th year to be over.” Potter looked surprised.

“That can’t be true.”

“Ah, but you see, it is. I’d already decided I wanted to do something that no house politics could taint.”

“You’re working here, though.”

Draco’s face hardened, and Potter momentarily halted his verbal assault. “Shit happens, Potter. Doesn’t mean that my ideals have to change with it.”

He straightened his back, and glared down at Potter, who seemed to be at a loss for a response. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Potter, I’ll be in my office organizing some things.” Potter could only nod as Draco walked away.

***

Much to his discomfiture, Draco left work at 5:30. He had wanted to leave by quarter past at the latest, but of course, he had to see his father about something related to the day’s work. Surprisingly, Potter said nothing to him as he left. He was probably still affected by their earlier argument. Draco brushed it off, assuming that Potter would be back to normal on Monday.

Oh, that was right. Today was Friday, which meant he was free for the next sixty hours! Rejoice!

Draco desperately wanted to go home and shed the suit he was wearing. He loathed wearing these suits and didn’t care about the expensiveness and the quality of them. So what if he wore Armani suits to work? He’d be more inclined to buy his clothes from stores like Burton's and Reiss and Cos, and occasionally Hot Topic as opposed to Haute Couture brands.

Hurrying to his car, Draco hopped into the vehicle, a Ferrari F12 _Berlinetta_ , in a silver colour. He had bought it more for decorum than anything else, being the son of one of the biggest business moguls of the generation, but he’d much prefer a 1964 or 1969 _Chevy Impala_ ; he liked both equally. His interest in the TV Show where a version of the car was an icon had nothing to do with it.

Driving out of the work carpark, Draco made the reasonable journey home. After arriving he stepped into his apartment, which he adored more than any other material thing he had, even if his father had bought it for him. His father never came here anyway, opting to stay in the family manor, which suited Draco just fine. His father disapproved of current lifestyle, but as long as Draco had a ‘suitable career’, his father refrained from interfering.

Shedding off his clothing, Draco made his way to his bathroom. He got into his shower and turned on the taps, then the waterproof music player he kept there. As he watched the water wash away the makeup on his neck and face, he felt like all of the day’s anxieties were being scrubbed off him. He regarded his arms, with their vivid tattoos. The full sleeve on his left arm was of a highly detailed snake which seemed to move as he twisted his arm. It had taken hours to do, but it had been worth it.

The partial sleeve on his right arm was part of his mother’s favourite poem: the last stanza of the 5th _Duino Elegy_ by Rainer Maria Rilke.

There was a skin rip tattoo on his pelvis that ran from his right mid thigh to just above belly button.

He couldn’t see the Chinese dragon crawling up his back, but if he turned his head to the right, he could see the dragon’s own head peering at him.

It sickened Draco that he had to obscure his tattoos, from everyone at his day job. He detested the fact that he couldn’t wear his piercings to work for fear of not appearing ‘befitting’. There were very few people at his work that knew of his body art: only his father, and Daphne Greengrass, who he had slept with once. He swore her to secrecy after that. Sometimes, though, she looked at him curiously, as if wondering how he could hide his ‘alter ego’ so well.

After getting out of the shower, Draco went into his room so he could find clothes for the gig that night. Concluding on ripped black skinny jeans, a large singlet, and combat boots, he dragged on the clothes and proceeded to put in his piercings. His nipple piercing was a given; it always stayed in, so he payed no attention to it. Contemplating which studs, rings and bars were suitable tonight, Draco decided on 2 stretchers, studs in his 4 cartilage piercings, and rings in his 4 helix ones. He chose a bullring in contrast to a infinity ring for his septum, and rings for his snake bites. Finally, he picked out a silver bar for his eyebrow.

Draco grabbed his bike keys, helmet and riding jacket. Slipping his phone and wallet into his pockets, he locked his front door behind him and headed to his bike. He refused to drive his car to a gig. Firstly, because everyone would figure out who he was, as really, how many people in Central London had a Ferrari F12 _Berlinetta_ the same colour as their eyes? Secondly, he hated appearing ostentatious in front of the band. Although the members knew his background, he didn’t like associating with it when he was with the guys.

So, he took his bike, a jet black _Ducati Sports Classic 1000_ with gold detailing that he got from his uncle Lucan. He venerated the bike and would definitely sacrifice himself for it.

Mounting his motorcycle and turning the key in ignition, Draco grinned as he felt the vibrations from the engine starting up running through his body. Pushing at the kickstand, he drove off, into the gridlock that was after work traffic, eventually picking up speed and weaving through the lanes of cars on the main streets.

The club the band was playing at, _Fringe Oddity_ , was relatively popular, and several well known bands played there regularly. His band had played there once before, and because of it, and serious networking from Hermione (though he often called her Granger in his head), they’d managed to get several of their songs recorded and released onto first studio album.

He owed a lot to this club.

Bypassing the front and making his way to the performer’s and staff’s car park in the back, Draco parked his bike, setting up the kickstand, then retrieved his phone for the time. 8:00pm. He had 15 minutes til soundcheck.

Getting through the back door was something of a trial, but luckily, he texted Granger, who sent Argent, the band’s drummer, to let him in.

“On time, aren’t we, Luc?”

“Whatever ‘Gent. I had work.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Argent waved him off.

“Just get to the green room. Stage is already set up.”

“You get the info on the song addition?”

“Yeah. Mione’s fave song.”

Draco smiled. “You guys are great.” Argent merely shrugged and walked off, leaving Draco to follow behind.

Upon reaching the green room, he noticed the whole band was already there. There was Argent, obviously, as he had led Draco there. Argent Philips was a stoically silent man, who only displayed any form of passion when he was onstage drumming, and even then, it was minimal. The bassist, Colby Kerrington, was a rail thin, half Korean, half English boy who looked barely out of high school, even though he was the oldest out of all of them. Colby was ridiculously pretty, with large eyes and high cheekbones. The only thing obviously masculine about his overall androgynous appearance was his comparatively deep voice.

Rhys Gwynn was their Welsh rhythm guitarist who sang as well as he played, so he often sang back up. In fact, several of their songs on their new album were sung by Rhys. Xavier Bordelle was the person who got him to join the band in the first place. Xavier, also having a day job, had helped Draco figure out how to balance that out with the band’s activities. Xavier was also the first man Draco loved, though now that love had faded, to be replaced by friendship.

Hermione was in a corner, whispering savagely into her phone. Apparently the Weasel was calling, to ask if he could ‘hangout’ that night, with himself and Potter, but since she had work, she was unable to.

As Draco set his jacket, helmet, phone and wallet down and greeted the band, he heard Hermione inhale. “How dare you even suggest something like that, Ronald Weasley!?”

Colby and Draco sniggered, while Argent, Rhys and Xavier rolled their eyes.

“He said it, didn’t he?”

Colby grinned out. “Of course the Weasel did. You’d seriously think that after thirteen years of knowing each other he’d learn better,”

Draco replied. “Well, obviously he hasn’t.”

“Hmm.”

Hermione hung up the phone harshly. “The nerve of some people! Do you know what Ronald asked me to do?” she exclaimed. The acrimony was potent in her voice. “He asked me to ditch work! How dare he!?!”

Colby and Draco let out gasps of shock. “He didn’t!” Colby appeared to look horrified at the thought, while Draco attempted to have an appearance of gravity, though he ultimately failed.

Hermione pouted. “Come off it, Gwon Chong Kwang. I can’t deal with your sass right now.”

“Oooh, she full named you!”

“Shut the fuck up, Lucien. Or, should I say, _Draco_.”

“Touché.”

Hermione scoffed at their antics. “Alright, guys. This is the first of a long list of gigs we have planned over the next few months. Let’s start this off on a good note. Our next show is on Sunday, and we also have an interview this week with a photo shoot next week.” She paused to take a breath. “Okay, your songlist tonight has nine songs. You will be starting with ‘ _Radiate_ ’, your mid song is ‘ _No Good_ ’, and you finish with ‘ _Harder Harmonies_ ’. Got that?”

They all nodded in confirmation. “Well then, boys. On with the show!”

The five of them began their progression to the stage, where they could hear the crowd cheering for them. While the opener was good in their own right, many had come for Draco and the band. Reaching the stage, all they could hear were shouts and screams of “Me to You! From Me to You!” and as they stepped out, the screams became louder.

“Oh my God, it’s starting!”

“Look at Xavier! He’s so handsome!”

“Colby is gorgeous.”

“Rhys~.”

“Argent! Argent!”

But mostly: “Lucien! It’s Lucien Draconis!”

Despite being the opposite of a boy band, their ‘fangirls’ made it seem like one, and his polite smiles towards them only hid his inexplicable urge to maim each of them every time he heard their shrill screams. Luckily, those were soon drowned out by the shouts of the ones actually here for the music, as opposed to the futile attempts of those who desired to get into one of the utterly disinterested band member’s trousers.

As the band began tuning, Draco commenced switching to his ‘alter ego’. On stage, he was Lucien Draconis, lead singer of the band ‘ _(Messages) From Me to You_ ’ Draco Malfoy did not exist here. He had no place here.This was Lucien’s territory.

With ‘Draco’ locked away inside him, Lucien grinned salaciously at the audience. Some of the girls were going weak at the knees from it. Lucien picked up the mike from the ground beside him, tapping it lightly. He caught the amplification of it through the speakers.

He brought the microphone to his lips, and began to speak. “Hello, we’re _From Me To You_.”

The crowd howled in anticipation. “Thanks for coming out tonight. We’re going to be starting with ‘ _Radiate_ ’ from ‘ _Wilderness_ ’.” Lucien nodded at Argent, who proceeded to count them in.

“One, two, one, two, three, four.” Xavier started the riff, prompting Lucien and the rest of the band to begin.

_To take away our expression Is to impoverish our existence_

Lucien began to jump and dance around onstage, prompting the crowd to start dancing as well.

_Oi! Yeah, kick it. Yeah._

Lucien slid to the front of the stage, bringing the mike closer to his chest. The intensity of the riff increased, and so did the tempo.

_It's insatiable; What we're waiting for_

_So to keep us from falling apart_  
_We'll write songs in the dark_  
_And to keep us from fading away_  
_We'll write for a better day_

Lucien started headbanging in time with the beat. He really loved this song, and he loved writing it. He curled slightly around the mike, facing the crowd, as the chorus repeated.

 _So to keep us from falling apart_  
_We'll write songs in the dark_  
_And to keep us from fading away_  
_We'll write…_

At the last line, Lucien backed up a bit, then threw himself forward, screaming the next verse.

 _IT WILL FLOURISH, IT WILL THRIVE_  
_IT WILL NOURISH;_  
_A SPRING CLEANING OF THE MIND_  
_IT WILL FLOURISH, IT WILL THRIVE_

 _To take away our expression_  
_Is to impoverish our existence_

At that line, Lucien began dancing again, joining in with the crowd. He started singing again while dancing.

 _They silence and censor_  
_Our right to create_  
_In cells we choke,_  
_Without what is innate_

The tempo slowed and Lucien paused in his dancing. He walked back to the stage, where he sat at the edge and softly sang the next two verses.

 _So to keep us from falling apart_  
_We'll write songs in the dark_  
_And to stop us from fading away_  
_We'll write for a better day_

 _This vomiting anguish and eruption of the soul_  
_To radiate energy to comfort and console_  
_To scatter our thoughts, to splatter our spirit_  
_A blizzard of fire with all we transmit_

The tempo began to build again, so Lucien came to a crouching stance, repeating the chorus.

 _So to keep us from falling apart_  
_We'll write songs in the dark_  
_And to stop us from fading away_  
_We'll write for a better day_

The drums came in again, and Lucien grinned at the crowd, reaching out his hand to them as he sang the chorus once more.

 _So to keep us from falling apart_  
_We'll write songs in the dark_  
_And to stop us from fading away_  
_We'll write for a better…_

The beat paused momentarily then started again. Lucien threw himself into the air, away from the edge of the stage, frantically jumping in time to the beat.

 _So to keep us from falling apart_  
_We'll write songs in the dark_  
_And to keep us from fading away_  
_We'll write for a better day_

 _So to keep us from falling apart_  
_We'll write songs in the dark_  
_And to keep us from fading away_  
_We'll write…_

He stretched out his free hand once again towards the crowd as he sang the bridge, Rhys joining in as back up.

 _It's insatiable;_  
_What we're waiting for (Woah-oh)_  
_It's insatiable;_  
_What we're waiting for (Woah-oh)_  
_It's insatiable;_  
_What we're waiting for (Woah-oh)_  
_It's insatiable;_  
_What we're waiting for…_

Lucien screamed out the next verse.

 _IT WILL FLOURISH, IT WILL THRIVE_  
_IT WILL NOURISH;_  
_A SPRING CLEANING OF THE MIND_  
_IT WILL FLOURISH, IT WILL THRIVE_  
_Yeah!_

The ‘Yeah!’ signalled only a minute was left of the song, so Lucien made the ‘1 minute’ signal to the band before singing the bridge for the last time.

 _It's insatiable;_  
_What we're waiting for (Woah-oh)_  
_It's insatiable;_  
_What we're waiting for (Woah-oh)_

As Rhys repeatedly sang the bridge, Lucien’s dancing became a bit more exaggerated, but that was because he was finishing the song.

 _So to keep us from falling apart_  
_We'll write songs in the dark_  
_And to keep us from fading away_  
_We'll write for a better day_

The tempo slowed down for the final time. Lucien stopped dancing and looked out into the crowd, staring past them into the proverbial distance.

 _So to keep us from falling apart_  
_We'll write songs in the dark_  
_And to stop us from fading away_  
_We'll write for a better day_

Lucien finished the song, while Rhys kept singing in the background.

 _Ooooh, oooh, oooh_  
Ooooh, oooh, oooh

The bass finished, finally ending the song. The crowd cheered and the atmosphere in the room was charged. From the corner of his eye, Lucien saw Hermione grinning at them offstage. He smirked. So far, _From Me to You_ ’s set was going astoundingly.

***

 _Where's your respect?_  
_And didn't your father teach you anything before he left?_  
_I'm not coming back, oh no, I'm not coming back, not coming back_

Lucien loved singing ‘ _No Good_ ’. It was so short, but it’s rhythm and message punched you in the gut. Rhys was the one who actually wrote the song, which surprised Lucien when read the lyrics. The song was obviously about someone messing with you for their gain, screwing you up and making you feel worthless and undeserving of appreciation. Lucien often wondered who fucked with the rhythm guitarist, but he never asked. Instead, he had asked Rhys if he wanted to sing it. The Welshman had declined, saying he wrote it with Lucien singing it in mind. So Lucien did.

 _It's people just like you_  
_Who made me the pessimist I am_  
_I'm lower than the dirt_  
_With no roots left to find_  
_It's nice to know I wasn't worth the seven digit let down_  
_I was left out in the cold_

Lucien could relate to this song as well - thoughts of a past relationship with someone from Hogwarts came to mind.They fucked with him so much for years, and when they didn’t need him anymore, they left him.

Lucien found out they were living in Canada practically a year after they were gone, and even then, it was only through a mutual acquaintance that he found out. To be honest, Lucien had some fault in it as well. He’d known he was being messed with, yet had done nothing. Perhaps he’d thought that they would - _could_ \- change, but he’d still kept himself in the same place. He guessed that was why his favourite line of this song was:

_I'm no good - you're no better._

This song spoke of accepting responsibility for your actions, as much as placing blame, so Lucien hoped their enraptured audience caught the meaning behind the song. He belted out the last lines of ‘No Good’, ending their mid-set song.

 _Don't point your unloaded gun at my head ever again._  
_Don't point your unloaded gun at my head, 'cause I'll pull the trigger._

***

It was their last song, and Lucien buzzed on the high that he gained from performances. A disconcerting guitar riff started to play, and Lucien knew from the faint squeal offstage that ‘Harder Harmonies’ was beginning. The riff was joined by Argent on the drums, which gave Lucien his cue to start singing

 _Like a shadow on a shadow, a phantom in a film strip,_  
_Faint glimmer of the past trapped in mother's old slides,_  
_Sits still in the apartment while sifting through some pictures_  
_Of the child that he once was and the sense of hope they framed._  
_"It's a shame,"_

_And I fear that fate while the humming from the street keeps me awake,_

This song was personal to Lucien. He’d written it when he was going through a difficult time, a little bit after university when the band started gaining notoriety. It had also been when he received a promotion in his job, giving him more responsibility within the company. Everything had seemed to be going well, but it wasn’t.

 _He says, "I let life get twisted._  
_Get worn out, torn up, and late with the rent. And_  
_Now nothing makes sense except the bench and that piano,_  
_A feeling nearing order when I'm pressing down the chords."_  
_And he plays,_

_And it swells and breaks, but what'll it take to make my life sound like that._

While Lucien sang out to the crowd, he thought about the audience and wondered if this song was as synonymous with their lives as it was with his. His life had been so messed up for so long. If his dad hadn’t bought his apartment and paid for utilities, Lucien would probably have been homeless; that’s how shitty his life had been.

 _And brings a fever, a dream of sweat and ecstasy._  
_A kiss on every hammer hit that follows as the keys fall down and_  
_Bring an order first, then chaos, then a calm, that_  
_Paints every shift in murals on the wall. And_  
_It presses to your neck,_  
_It clutches to your hips,_  
_Softly sings to you of fireworks and God and art and sex and it's strange-_  
_That it feels so right when nothing else does._

Lucien asphyxiated himself with music to distract himself from going insane. During work holidays, he would lock himself away for days on end, playing his instruments, singing. Lucien occasionally thought, when he looked back, that it was most likely what had saved him.

 _But all the while he's playing there's a humming_  
_Coming up and through the window from outside._  
_And even he has to admit a certain melody in it, but then why can't he harmonize?_  
_It's like the city's got it's own song but he can't play along._  
_He sees the notes as they fly by but always plays them wrong._  
_And in the bathroom it gets blurry, gets warm and distorted,_  
_Like light pushed the orange of the pillbox he poured in_  
_His palm. It falls to the floor, he smiles as it hits,_  
_"Sounds a little like an instrument."_

Lucien had never gone as far as trying to kill himself, but he’d thought about it. He’d been trying so hard to fit into this damned city, but it was just so friggin’ difficult. Many times he felt like he was walking in a line, and everyone else but him was stepping in time to a melody he just couldn’t quite catch, and he kept tripping and misstepping.

 _Like a voice in the choir, that hum and that drumbeat of life as an art-form and_  
_Fire through the streets that keep moving us in silence to phantom baton sweeps,_  
_Keep tapping to the tempo of our feet._

 _And all the ones who seem to fit the best into the chorus never notice there's a song_  
_And the ones who seem to hear it end up tortured by the chords when they fail to find_  
_A way to sing along._

For a long time, Lucien felt as if everyone in the city had some connection with each other, everyone, except Lucien and the other guys in From Me to You. Everyone went to the same secondary school. Everyone still hung out with the same people from their school houses, choosing to stick with age old stereotypes and prejudices which were ingrained into their attitudes.

 _And when you sing the wrong thing it all starts collapsing._  
_Starts to ring out and feedback, starts lapsing and crashing, on notes that don't clash_  
_But that never quite feel like they match._

_And I never quite feel like mine match._

Lucien was so scared that his co-workers would find out his secret - this part of him that could potentially shatter the well constructed image he’d given them. The spoiled daddy’s boy who got whatever he wanted. He was fine with that image, and although it wasn’t his true self, he’d been protected by it for a long time. He tried so desperately hard to conceal the part of him that he was only willing to show to a select few. But sometimes, just sometimes, thought that he could never truly hide it.

 _There's a melody in everything,_  
_I'm trying to find a harmony but_  
_Nothing seems to work,_  
_Nothing seems to fit._

This song fit him, and he knew why it was Hermione’s favourite. It related to her as well, possibly almost as much as it did to himself

 _There's a melody in everything,_  
_I'm trying to find a harmony but_  
_Nothing seems to work,_  
_Nothing seems to fit._

It meant something to the band, to the audience, their fans, to every person out there who got fucked over by their minds. That’s why Lucien sang so passionately, why he danced so fervently. He was trying to get these messages that he had inside of him from himself to the ones who could never understand.

 _There's a melody in everything,_  
_I'm trying to find a harmony but_  
_Nothing seems to work,_

_Nothing fits._

***

With that last word, the song, and their act, came to an end.

The crowd screamed, and as he smiled tiredly at them, Draco came to the forefront, sending Lucien back to the recesses of his mind. “Thank you for coming out tonight to see us and support us. We’re ‘ _From Me to You_ ’, and we hope to see you again.” The crowd cheered one last time, and began to dissipate and drift off, a post-performance buzz wrapping around everyone.

He and the band walked off stage, stalled by several fans who wanted to obtain an autograph. Draco happily obliged. He understood what it meant to meet and talk to someone you admire in person. He and the band also posed for some photos, so it took them a bit longer to get back to the green room. Hermione was there to greet them.

“You were great out there tonight, guys! Especially in your final song. Truly inspired.”

Colby smirked as he rummaged in his bag for blister tape and Friar’s Balsam. “Yeah, yeah, Hermy. Laying the praise a bit thick there, aren’t we?”

Blushing slightly, she said “I’m just glad you guys sang my favourite song. I really appreciate it.” She smiled, and they all felt the warmness of it seep through into their chests. Perhaps because of that, her next statement didn’t sink in for a while.

“Let’s hope that tomorrow’s gig is just as energetic as this one!”

“... Aw crap.”

***

It was Monday morning _again_ after a hectic weekend and Draco was completely shattered. To make matters worse, it was raining - no, pouring, and the underground carpark was full so he had to park in the open air carpark. Along the trek to the office, Draco would curse the fact that even as the head of the company’s son, he didn’t get the privilege of reserved parking. His umbrella had just barely kept him dry, ugh.

If it wasn’t for the fact that he hated exploitation, his father would definitely be hearing about this.

He yawned, collected his timetable from the receptionist, and got into the elevator. He removed his coat and scarf from around his neck and carried them into his office, where he hung them up on his coat rack. There was a recently dry cleaned suit spread across his couch, as well as a towel.

Praise the Lord for small mercies.

He sat behind his desk and stretched, trying to wake up. He was contemplating going to the staff kitchen to make a strong cup of tea, or even coffee. It was then Potter walked in.

“Oh, good morning Potter. Have a nice weekend?”

Potter sneered slightly and shrugged. “Yeah, I had fun - not that you’d care.”

“Really Potter? Please don’t start, not this early.”

“Whatever, Malfoy. You know hats are against work policy.”

He sighed, regarding Potter, then pulled off the beanie which had kept his hair partially dry. Draco rubbed at his eyes and pushed back his hair from his face, revealing a silver bar going through his right eyebrow. Now, Draco did not intentionally leave the bar in. He’d purposely removed his other facial ones, but, he’d had his eyebrow piercing the longest and often forgot about it when he checked to make sure there were no piercings still in. It hadn’t been his intention to leave it in, but between his rush this morning and his fatigue, it couldn’t be helped.

Neither could the ensuing reaction.

“Oh my God, Malfoy. You have an _eyebrow piercing_?!” Draco’s eyes widened. Oh, shit. He didn’t, didn’t he? He reached up to touch his eyebrow, and sure enough, he felt the cool metal of the silver bar.

Fuck.

“How drunk did you get to let that happen… wait.” Draco looked up at Potter, who seemed frozen in shock. “That piercing isn’t recent. You’ve had it for months! Oh my lord, how did I not notice?” “Perhaps it was because I didn’t want you to see it.” “Wait, was it a mistake or something?” Draco shook his head. “When did you get it?”

Draco sighed, He presumed that he could tell Potter this much. “I got it the day we left Hogwarts.”

“Since Hogwarts! _Oh my fucking God_ , that’s more than 6 years! You’ve had a bar through your eyebrow for more than 6 years!”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, Potter. Now, if you’ll shut up about it, we can forget about it, and you’ll never see it again.”

Potter shook his head, dazed. “Alright, Malfoy. I won’t talk about it.”

Potter then walked out of Draco’s office, scratching his head in confusion and disbelief. Draco sighed. That tiny slip up had nearly cost him his secrecy. But now it was over for good. Though really, Draco should never have brushed it off that Potter knew about the piercing.

He really shouldn’t have.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs in the chapter:  
> 'Radiate' by Enter Shikari  
> 'No Good' by Knuckle Puck  
> 'Harder Harmonies' by La Dispute  
> My tumblr is helloparkingmeter.tumblr.com, so you can message me at any time!


	2. In The Second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I’m not sure if you’re completely aware, but I have been a massive dick to you for several years. I have acknowledged my actions and I am repentant. Do you think we could start over?”_  
>  “What?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahahahaha...  
> Hello. Um, here's the chapter.  
> I give this to you as a Christmas present.  
> I'd also like to thank my betas for their infinite editorial knowledge and sass wars.  
> This chapter would read much worse without them
> 
> I would like to point out that the only thing that belongs to me is the plot line and OCs. Thank you.

Upon exiting Malfoy’s office, Harry calmly and purposefully walked to his own office. Only then did his facade of nonchalance slip off; he began to panic.  
“Oh my God,” he thought frantically, trying to absorb this revelation. “Malfoy has an eyebrow piercing. An _eyebrow piercing_.”  
He scrambled desperately for his phone, and called the first person he could think of, which was Ron.  
“Hullo, Harry. What’s up?”  
“Malfoy.”  
Ron’s scowl was practically audible. “What did the ferret do now?”  
“It’s not what he did though technically, it is. Ugh, I don’t even know how to explain it.”  
“Just spit it out Harry. I have to get back to work in a few.”  
“Malfoy has an eyebrow piercing.”  
“ _What!?!?_ ” shrieked Ron, pummeling through the phone’s speaker, loud enough so that several people could hear, even without speaker-phone. The majority of them gave him concerned looks.  
“Calm down Ron. I know it’s shocking, but calm down!”  
“Is it fake?! How long has he had it?!”  
“It’s not fake, and he’s had it since just after Hogwarts.”  
“Hogwarts?! What?”  
“Yeah, I know! Bloody insane right?”  
“My reasoning capabilities are now shot from the news Harry.”  
Harry raised an eyebrow even though it was impossible for Ron to see it.  
“Since when did you use words like ‘capabilities’ in such a context?”  
“I’m not an idiot Harry, plus I _did_ spend 13 years of my life being friends with the Hermione Granger. Speaking of, we need to tell her about this.”  
Harry voiced his assent.  
“Alright. We’ll meet for lunch then okay?”  
“Yeah, which restaurant?”  
“Ask Hermione when you call her. She knows all the good places.”  
“Okay then, see you later Harry.”  
“See you Ron.”  
Placing his phone on his desk, Harry sighed. The day had gotten off to a strange start. After Friday, when he got himself into that awkward spot with Malfoy, it caused him to re-test his view of the blond. He hated that the image he had of Malfoy was disputed by what he knew now.  
Draco Lucius Malfoy was- is?- _was_ the biggest douchebag he knew. You don’t fight for 7 years of secondary school without finding out some things.  
Though, Malfoy offered his hand in friendship on the first day of life at Hogwarts, and occasionally, after a particularly nasty fight with the blond asshat, Harry wondered what life would be like being friends with Draco Malfoy.  
Harry often shook it of, concluding that companionship with Malfoy was never meant to happen, as they were too incompatible.  
He rubbed at his face, breathing out harshly. Truthfully, he did not understand what to think of the blond git anymore.  
Well, speak of the devil, Malfoy knocked once on his office door, and barged in without waiting for an answer.  
At least he knocked, Harry acknowledged, grudgingly, knowing he seldom gave the blond such courtesy. Not that he deserved it in Harry’s mind.  
The silver bar was gone, and a private part of Harry felt saddened by it; the bar removed some of the severity of Malfoy’s face, and made him seem more, Harry didn’t know, human.  
“Yes Malfoy? What do I owe the displeasure?”  
The blond’s sneer was a typical Malfoy-ish one. The one that his father had down to a fine art. Even Harry, with limited interest in appearing _holier-than-thou_ , felt jealous coming face to face with that contemptuous look.  
“Ha, hilarious Potter. We have a meeting in 10. We need to head up now. Get your crap and come on please.”  
“Alright, alright,” said Harry, rolling his eyes at Malfoy before grabbing his phone and following Malfoy out of his office.  
“Are you sure you need nothing else? Like a laptop perhaps? Or files?”  
Malfoy almost seemed _concerned_ at his lack of items, but Harry chalked it up to a desire for company perfection.  
Harry smirked.  
“My assistant has already dealt with that, don’t worry.”  
Malfoy merely raised an eyebrow.  
“If you say so Potter.”  
He then strode away, prompting Harry to lope after him.

***

The meeting was uneventful: Colin, his assistant, had everything sorted, as Harry had predicted, which Malfoy had to accept.  
A lot of department heads were there including Lucius Malfoy, who sat at the head of a large conference table appraising everyone with condescending eyes.  
Harry sat opposite Malfoy with Colin beside him. Malfoy's hair was styled impeccably; not at all like the travesty it was this morning. The silver bar through his eyebrow was nowhere in sight. In fact, it was like he didn't have an eyebrow piercing at all.  
This was rather disconcerting, as it was as if Harry never found out about the piercing. But being aware of its existence ignited the curiosity within him so that needed to be sated. So, for the entirety of the meeting, Harry spent his time staring at Malfoy, in particular his right eyebrow.  
He never noticed it before, Malfoy had very nice eyebrows. They were finely shaped, not a hair out of place. Harry wondered if Malfoy plucked them. He wouldn't put it past him.  
It was a nudge from Colin out of that snapped him out of his shameless staring, notifying him of the fact he had to read the report of the month. He was so thankful to Colin in that moment. Luckily he spoke without stumbling terribly over his words and not making a fool out of himself.  
After reading the report, here sat back down, still subjected to the unemotional gaze of Lucius Malfoy.  
“ Very well Mr. Potter,” Malfoy Snr. drawled, leaning back in his chair and tenting his fingers. “Next?”  
The meeting went on like this until the end when they were finally dismissed. Harry let out a breath of relief. It was short-lived however as something was said to Harry which forced him to stay.  
“Mr. Potter, stay behind for a moment.”  
Harry as well as Malfoy Jr. and Colin froze. Turning, they saw that Lucius Malfoy was still sitting, looking at the three of them with that impassive expression of his.  
“Uh, okay Mr. Malfoy.”  
Malfoy Jnr. gave Harry a look of panic, concern emanating off him, but Harry gestured for he and Colin to move along.  
It flattered Harry that the younger Malfoy showed such worry, but again Harry chalked it up to working in the same department: failure on Harry's part was a reflection on Malfoy, and vice versa.  
Lucius Malfoy and Harry were the only ones left in the room, and Harry was visibly uncomfortable.  
The Malfoy patriarch regarded Harry coolly.  
“What was the topic of today's meeting Mr. Potter?”  
Harry froze. In his apprehension, he forgot how to speak.  
“Um, we discussed this month’s progress across all departments and boards and debated options for increasing profit across all sectors.”  
Lucius Malfoy smirked.  
“I am surprised by your answer Mr. Potter.”  
Harry swallowed. “Sir?”  
“Because, I noticed that you were rather fixated by my son’s face for the entire meeting. Or possibly I was seeing a fabrication, though that is highly implausible.”  
Harry tried desperately, but the beet red colour his face turned when embarassed could not be stopped.  
“Mr. Potter,” began Lucius Malfoy bluntly, causing Harry to look up. “What my son takes part in within his private life is not my concern.”  
The Malfoy head leant forward unexpectedly, getting closer to Harry, who nearly startled and fell over, but caught himself.  
“However, if his private affairs merge with his work and affects performance, I _will_ intervene. Do I make myself clear Mr. Potter?”  
“Yes, Mr. Malfoy.”  
“Good. Now, get back to work now if you may.”  
Harry nodded and exited the room as quickly as he dared without losing his dignity by running away.  
He got several meters away from the room when he bumped into Malfoy, who appeared to be waiting for him.  
“Malfoy? Why are you here?”  
“Why wouldn’t I be here Potter? My father, head, owner, _creator_ of this conglomerate, calls my partner for a discussion of some sort, and it did not look very promising. Are you in trouble?”  
Harry shook his head, bemused by Malfoy’s worry.  
“Why do you care so much? It’s no skin off your back if I get in trouble.”  
Malfoy glared at him.  
“Why are you so _dense_ , Potter?” the blond sighed dramatically.  
“Contrary to what you might believe dear Potter, you are nigh on irreplaceable. Disregarding high school differences, your ability to work together with me in such a capacity has caused our department to garner the most success out of the others.”  
Harry froze. He did not realize that.  
“Why do you seem so shocked by that Potter? We literally go to monthly meetings to discuss this. What did we come out of just now?”  
“It’s not that Malfoy. It’s just that I was unaware of the extent of our department’s profit margins in comparison to everyone else.”  
Malfoy rolled his eyes.  
“You’re such an imbecile Potter. I have no idea how you even managed to get so high up within the business sector.”  
Harry scowled.  
“Fuck off Malfoy.” He couldn’t deal with the blond git right now. However, with that utterance, Malfoy became serious.  
“Potter, you still haven’t told me what you and my father discussed.”  
Harry merely brushed his comment off, not taking Malfoy’s ‘concern’ for him seriously.  
“Don’t worry your pristine blond head about it Malfoy,” to which the blond in question bristled. “It’s none of your concern anyway. Don’t worry.”  
Malfoy raised an eyebrow at Harry, but didn’t contest him.  
“Alright Potter, whatever you say.”  
With that, Malfoy stalked off, cutting an imposingly haughty figure as he made his way back to his office.  
Harry sighed, following Malfoy for the second time that day, and thought to himself that surely the day couldn’t get any stranger.

***

“Oh my God, I can’t believe Malfoy has an eyebrow piercing! This goes totally against his privileged douchebag persona!”  
Harry laughed at Ron’s statement. “Or maybe, he does it cause he thinks he’s a badass or something. Huh, some badass he is.”  
“Is he trying to go against his dad?” Ron smirked cruelly. “Not much of a rebel if he’s taking it out for work.”  
Harry and Ron sat in the booth, laughing at Malfoy’s expense. Hermione however, was silent.  
The trio was in a small cafe called _Syprs_. Hermione had raved about it several times before so both Ron and Harry were intrigued. Though right now it seemed she was not enjoying herself.  
Harry didn’t pay much attention, as he and Ron were enjoying themselves too much with bitching about Malfoy.  
Harry certainly had the right to be this way to Malfoy, the spoiled prat, rubbing his blood status in everyone’s faces, driving around in that super expensive car of his which was this proverbial neon sign flashing ‘wealth’. Sure, Harry wasn’t dirt poor; his family was reasonably well off -his dad come from an old pureblood family- but Harry himself was not going to touch his inheritance until it was necessary. He was not going to spend his life hanging off his father’s coat tails like Malfoy. It was so pitiful.  
He just _knew_ Malfoy told his dad everything that occurred on the surrounding floors. It was so like him.  
There was so much about Malfoy he disliked, he was perfectly justified to-  
“Would you two just _shut the fuck up_?!”  
Harry’s and Ron’s mouths startled shut, as they gazed wide eyed in surprise at a furious Hermione.  
“Can you hear yourselves? ‘ _Oh Malfoy is such a prick_ ’ ‘ _Malfoy is a spoilt brat_ ’. How old are you, twelve?”  
“But Hermione,” Ron whined. “It’s true.”  
“True my ass. Do you work at Abraxas Incorporated? No! All you hear about him is bigoted hearsay!”  
Hermione’s eyes flashed with rage, her words harsh and biting, even though she spoke at a level that no one at surrounding tables could hear.  
“You two are such hypocrites! You blather on about how much you have changed in the last six years yet here you are, acting the same way you did in high school. By the looks of it, you haven’t changed at all!”  
“But Malfoy hasn’t either!” Harry refuted, not at all liking where Hermione was taking this argument. “He still acts the same way as he did in high school!”  
“Harry, weren’t you the one that told me that your workplace has a very house oriented mentality, and you feel like you have to play the part of the loyal Gryffindor?”  
“Yeah, bu-”  
“Then,” said Hermione, her voice very quiet, yet so piercingly cold, “what is it to say that Malfoy has to play the role of Slytherin Prince and privileged son of Lucius Malfoy?”  
Harry gaped, unable to form a rebuttal. Ron, foolishly, did.  
“But that still doesn’t explain the eyebrow piercing!”  
Hermione rolled her eyes -in a rather Malfoy-like manner, Harry noticed- before standing up and gathering her things.  
“I’m leaving. I will not sit here and listen to you tear a perfectly innocent person’s character to shreds.”  
Ron scoffed.  
“Malfoy’s no innocent. He’s just a-”  
_Smack!_  
There were several gasps as people witnessed one Hermione Granger slap Ronald Weasley across the face.  
“It’s been six years Ron. You think about what can happen in six years. Better, yet think about what can happen in six seconds, such as the dissolution of a friendship.”  
Hermione then left, leaving two stunned men behind, though Harry regained his senses quickly, and ran after her.  
She hadn’t made it very far.  
“Mione, wait!”  
She spun around, glaring at him. Harry appraised her, and was hit (this time theoretically) with the fact that a lot can happen in 6 years. Hermione’s teeth were even, its considerable size now rectified. Her hair hung in silky curls down her back, the bushiness long gone. She was a svelte, sharp-witted, and made a very beautiful woman, far from the merely pretty teenage girl that she was.  
“Hermione, please don’t go. I couldn’t bear if our friendship ended now.”  
She regarded him and sighed. “Harry, I’ve moved on. Whatever hurt Dra- Malfoy has caused me has long been forgotten.”  
“But Hermione, he was so terrible to you in secondary school. You still have scars.”  
She gave him a level look.  
“And he doesn’t have scars as well?”  
Harry was silent.  
“Despite his ‘daddy’s boy’ persona at work, has Malfoy been antagonistic to you in any way? Any way that might hint that he still holds grudges against you?”  
Harry didn’t even have to think about it, and for that he was confronted with an overwhelming sense of shame.  
“No. No he hasn’t.” This utterance was whispered, but Hermione still heard it.  
“Well then, Harry, I will be seeing you. Don’t contact me until you have made your peace with Malfoy and can actually be civil with him. And I will know Harry, if you lie to me about it.”  
She began, for the second time, to walk away.  
“But Mione!”  
“Harrison James Potter. If Draco Malfoy ‘douchebag of the year’ can get over himself and not hold any grudges against you, -and believe me, there are _plenty_ to be had- then you can remove your head from your extremities and apologize.”  
Harry could only stare as the smartest woman he knew, second only to his mother, walked away.  
Harry scratched his head and gazed woefully at the heavens.  
He certainly had a knack for royally screwing thing up, didn’t he?

***

The visit to the cafe was a mess, so Harry went inside, collected his belongings and departed, without saying anything to Ron, who had gone catatonic.  
Harry had 45 minutes before he had to return to work, so he needed something to do.  
Despite the gnawing emptiness of his stomach, Harry was sure he wouldn’t be able to keep any food down.  
Hermione’s passionate outburst had shocked him. How was it that he was still stuck in the same secondary school mindset that he wanted to be rid of? Why did Malfoy of all people make him cling to that?  
In frustration, Harry scrubbed his hair.  
He needed to vent some of this pent up emotion.  
As he made his way to Regent’s Park, Harry pulled out his phone to call his mother. Call him childish, but he always called his mother when he had an issue with something. She had literally 20 years of experience over him. She should know something to help him through this. Dialling his mother, he hoped that she wasn’t busy. Luckily, she picked up, so that made Harry relatively happier.  
“Hello sweetheart. What’s up?”  
He smiled upon hearing her voice.  
“Hello Mum. Everything’s fine. It’s just…” Harry trailed off, unsure of how to word it.  
“Harry darling, what’s wrong?”  
“Mum, what would you do if you found out that this person you thought you knew and you thought you were right about, turns out to be completely different and not only that, you were in the wrong all along?”  
His mother was quiet. “I would apologize to this person. Were you basing your actions towards this person on your misconceptions of them?”  
Harry mumbled a yes, scratching his hair as his legs lead him through Regent’s Park.  
“The you definitely should apologize. Especially if this person has done no wrong and you’ve been treating them as if they have.”  
“But Mum, how do you correct years of this? It can’t just be rectified like that.”  
“You’d be surprised sweetheart. Maybe this person is ready to accept your apology. You won’t know until you try.”  
Harry exhaled, as if relieved of a great burden. “Okay Mum, thanks.”  
“No problem, Harry. And tell me how your apology to Draco Malfoy goes okay?”  
“Wha-?!”  
“Bye Harry!”  
“Mum!” However, the line was dead and she couldn’t hear him anymore.  
How did his mother know that this had to do with Draco Malfoy?  
Releasing another breath of exasperation, Harry decided to try and get something to eat as it felt like his stomach was finally calm enough to manage food.  
Guiltily, he bought a meal from Burger King, and with every bite he took he heard Hermione’s rant about the catastrophic downsides of eating at a fast food restaurant and the healthier and more economical benefits of eating out at locally owned establishments.  
Burger King however, was convenient, as he had less than 10 minutes to get back to work and his angst filled sojourn carried him a while away from his workplace.  
So, hurrying to finish his meal, Harry then briskly made his way to his building.  
Giving a small smile to Millicent Bulstrode at the front desk, Harry opted for the elevator instead of the stairs as he usually did.  
He made it to his office with one minute to spare. Collapsing in his chair with an exhalation of satisfaction, Harry’s mind then turned to ways in which he could burn off the extra calories he consumed from Burger King. What bills he had to pay. If he needed to do laundry. Anything to keep his mind from how to go about apologizing to Malfoy.  
Harry supposed his biggest fear was that his apology would all go to shit and that it wouldn’t work, further disintegrating his and Malfoy’s ‘relationship’ of sorts into nothingness.  
Both Hermione and his mother said apologizing was the right thing to do, but Harry was terrified of doing it.  
He knew that he should give Malfoy his apology before the day was out, but Harry was not really for that idea: maybe he could call someone else for advice, Neville maybe…?  
“Oi, Potter.”  
Shit.  
Harry glanced up at the appearance of Malfoy in his office. The blond stood there, expression neutral and without pretense, waiting for Harry to respond.  
“Yes Malfoy? What do you want?”  
“Go over these documents please? They’re necessary for something which occurs tomorrow.”  
“Alright Malfoy. I’ll get it done. Anything else?”  
Malfoy shook his head. “Unlikely. Just hurry and get those done. Maybe you can leave early when you finish.”  
Harry watched as the blond proceeded to leave.  
“Malfoy, wait. I need to talk to you about something.”  
Better do it now, Harry thought resignedly, as he watched his high school nemesis walk back towards him.  
Malfoy leant on his desk, staring at Harry with a look on his face that seemed way too invasive.  
“What is it Potter? Please don’t take long. We have work.”  
Harry sighed. It appeared that he had done that several times today. This was turning out to be much harder than how he imagined it in his head. And it was already difficult when he thought about it. Why was the relatively simple act of apologizing so goddamn impossible?  
“I’m not sure if you’re completely aware, but I have been a massive dick to you for several years. I have acknowledged my actions and I am repentant. Do you think we could start over?”  
Malfoy’s eyes widened in shock.  
“What?!”  
“I’m not going to repeat myself again, Malfoy. Apologizing was hard enough as it is.”  
“You’re apologizing?” sputtered out the blond, whose expression was nearly identical to Ron’s after Hermione slapped him.  
“Malfoy. Respond. Please?”  
Said blond gave Harry a blank-eyed gaze. “Explain your reasons for this proposal, Potter. I need to know why. Before I give an answer.”  
“You enjoy seeing me struggle don’t you?” Harry groaned.  
“I admit it’s oddly satisfying.”  
“Okay. So, remember first year of Hogwarts when you offered your hand in friendship and I rejected you?”  
Malfoy scowled. “How could I forget? First time I’d been rejected. Terrible experience.”  
“Yeah well, you didn’t actually give me a great first impression to be fair. I didn’t want to be friends with a spoilt brat. Plus, you were in Slytherin, and all my life I’ve been told that Slytherin was a bad house. That was already two strikes against you.”  
“Okay then, you still haven’t explained why you’re apologizing. By your reasoning, you have every reason to be annoyed with me. I have done nothing to earn your favour.”  
“You’re right Malfoy. You’ve done nothing, maybe in the past you did, like at Hogwarts when we were constantly fighting, but not now when you have done nothing to earn my favour, but also have also done nothing to not warrant it.”  
Harry glanced down at his hands. “So, I apologize for my ridiculous behaviour over the years, Malfoy, and I hope we can at least turn a new leaf or something.”  
Malfoy gained a thoughtful expression. A few minutes passed before he responded.  
“Do you mean it Potter?”  
Harry nodded. “I do.”  
And in that moment, Harry realized that he actually did mean it, and not just because he wanted to get into good graces with Hermione again. He wanted to start over with Malfoy. He was so tired of fighting him.  
“Alright,” Malfoy exhaled, rolling his eyes to the heavens. “We’ll start over. But call me Draco, will you? I sound like I’m over forty when you call me ‘Malfoy’.”  
“Okay then Draco, but only if you call me Harry.”  
Mal- Draco grinned. “You have yourself a deal.”  
And they shook on their new dynamic to their previously tumultuous partnership

***

“Morning Draco. How are you today?”  
Said male was currently heading to his office, after just arriving to work.  
“Hullo Harry. And I’m fine thanks.”  
Harry often marvelled at their new dynamic, most probably because it was rather friendly.  
The last few weeks had seen awkward conversations, stilted lunch dates, less than admirable attempts of refraining from fighting, but it was getting better. Even the workplace was noticing.  
Because of the lack of hostility between the two floor heads, the atmosphere seemed a lot lighter. People who came in early to have at least an hour or so of no oppressive emotion was pleasantly surprised by the fact that the peaceful atmosphere lasted the entire day.  
It certainly affected profit, as it tripled in a fortnight on their one floor.  
Harry was very grateful for it, as the negative air of the floor got to him, not that he liked to admit it. The guilt that he was at fault did not help matters either, but now, it was resolved and everyone, including him, could breathe a sigh of relief.

“Oi Harry.”  
He glanced up. Draco was leaning on his door post, smirking.  
“What, Draco?”  
“You free this weekend?”  
“Yeah, why?”  
“We’re doing something.”  
“Wait. What?”  
Draco raised his right eyebrow. The same eyebrow that had the silver bar through it over a month ago. Harry still hadn’t found out about it after all this time. It was so frustrating.  
“Do you not want to hang out with me Harry? And we were doing so well too.”  
“Of course I wouldn’t mind hanging out with you. It was just out of the blue, that’s all.”  
The blond smiled. “Okay then. Meet me by Leonie’s at 10.”  
“It’s a date Malfoy.”  
“You wish, Potter,” was stated before Draco left.  
It was rather hard not to call each other by their last names, but now, there wasn’t any hate behind it.  
Harry grinned. He got to hang out with Malfoy!

Harry stood awkwardly outside Leonie’s. The store was just opening up and if Harry had to wait any longer, then he’d feel obligated to go inside. However, he didn’t want to; Leonie’s was this New Age store which sold crystals and incense and those kind of things. Harry wasn’t really into that, though he wondered if Draco was, since Draco knew the store. That’d be an interesting thing to know. Maybe that’s why Draco had the eyebrow piercing. For inner chi or some crap.  
Luckily, Draco came strolling up the footpath towards him. The blond wore navy blue cuffed slim fit chinos with a slightly oversized sweater and a button up shirt underneath. The outfit was generally what Harry expected, but the way Draco wore his trousers was a mild surprise.  
Harry then noticed Draco surveying his outfit. He seemed thoughtful.  
“What?” Harry pondered, looking down at his own skinny jeans and hoodie. He dressed a lot more casually that Malfoy did, but Harry surmised that it was because he was Draco, and image was very important for him.  
“You look nice. I’m impressed, Potter.”  
“It’s just jeans and a hoodie, Draco.”  
“But they’re clean and have no holes in them. Remember what you used to wear at Hogwarts Harry? Why your parents didn’t buy you new clothes I will never know.”  
“I didn’t want any new clothes. Shopping was so tedious.”  
“How do you expect to attract a lover, Potter, if you demand to be so unkempt?”  
Harry laughed. Draco’s rather proper way of speaking amused him.  
“‘Lover’? Really Draco?”  
“It’s one of the few gender neutral terms out there. Partner is too ambiguous.”  
“What’s with the emphasis on gender neutrality Draco? Not many people would do that.”  
“I am not ‘many people’, Potter. I merely gave you one as I was unaware of your sexual orientation.”  
Harry was stunned. Even after a month and a half of amicability, Harry was still astounded by some of the things Draco did to try and be friendly.  
“Wow. Thanks for your consideration. And I guess lover would be more accurate. I suppose gender is not an issue for me, I’ve realized.”  
Draco merely nodded. “That’s perfectly fine Harry. Let’s go.”  
The blond began walking away from him, not looking back, as if he expected Harry to follow him. Which he did.  
“Hey! Aren’t you going to tell me your sexuality?”  
The question came out with an air of nonchalance and curiosity.  
“I don’t need to divulge that information to you, my dear Potter.”  
Harry pouted. “But I told you mine.”  
“You chose to, Potter. There was no such decision made on my part. Now, come along. There is much to do.”  
“Alright, sir Draco. Carry on.”

The day was long, yet fun. They explored London together, and Harry discovered places that he never knew existed. What was more fascinating was that Draco knew all these places.  
He learnt a lot of things that day, like the fact that Draco could use his left hand as well as his right (“It’s called being _ambidextrous_ , Potter.”), he had a sweet tooth (Harry would always remember how Draco’s face lit up as they strolled past a small patisserie) and that the upper class way he spoke was more of a defense mechanism than anything else, as when he got more comfortable around Harry, he spoke more ‘commonly’, as one would say.  
It was around four in the afternoon, and the pair were walking around Regent’s Park. Harry recalled all that time ago when he called his mother about apologizing to Draco. He felt rather pleased that the decision he made paid off.  
“Penny for your thoughts?”  
Harry started slightly, almost tripping.  
“Oh, I was just remembering.”  
“What?” Draco looked curious.  
“Uh...it was here that I decided that I would apologize to you.”  
“Oh really.”  
Harry gave the blond a sly smirk.  
“Yes. Such a difficult choice too. There was always the possibility you would reject my hand of friendship.”  
“Ah yes. Rejection. The foe of all men.” Draco chuckled, and pushed his hair off his face. Harry watched the long slender fingers card through seemingly soft platinum locks.  
Distracted by Draco’s hair, Harry didn’t notice as the blond pulled out his phone. Harry only snapped to attention when Draco hissed.  
“What is it? What’s wrong Draco?”  
“Ugh, I have to go. Something came up.” there was a scowl printed on Draco’s face. His annoyance was palpable.  
“Has it got to do with work?”  
“No, no. It’s another job I have to go do.”  
His scowl slipped however when his gaze focused back on Harry.  
“I had a lot of fun today, Harry. Thanks.”  
“No problem, Draco. Thanks for inviting me.”  
Draco gave him a soft smile then ran off. Harry’s mind went into overdrive as soon the blond was out of visible range.  
Another job he had to do? What other job? Could it be that Draco had affiliations with a gang?  
Harry shook off the preposterous thought.  
“Yeah, right,” muttered Harry to himself, scoffing. “Draco couldn’t last a day in a gang.”  
He couldn’t help but wonder though, as he made his way home from the park.

***

Draco scowled. He couldn’t believe that Hermione was pulling them now. Their first bloody free day in well over a month? Sure, Draco loved the thrill of performing and being in a band, but they’d had over fifteen performances in the past month alone. He was surprised he hadn’t lost his voice. Yet, Hermione was calling them.  
_God dammit_!  
He managed to hail a cab to take him to Hermione’s penthouse flat in New Cross. The drive was just over half an hour so he had to pay on the spot, which frustrated him as it meant he had to use his card due to lack of sufficient cash on his person for cab fare.  
Scowling in the backseat of the taxi, Draco mussed his hair, rolled up his chino’s cuffs and pulled up the sleeves of his sweater. Sure, he was bettering his relationship with Potter, but that didn’t mean Potter could see any of his tattoos and piercings.  
Speaking of piercings, he inserted a ring into his eyebrow, as he missed not wearing a piercing there for the whole day.  
Despite not wearing any on his ‘play date’ with Harry, he had a plastic case in his messenger bag that he carried everywhere in which he carried extra piercings. He put in his septum and his stretchers as well.  
Deliberately, he refrained from inserting all his piercings - he knew Hermione would know he was annoyed with her. She loved seeing all his piercings and tattoos on display, so on occasion, when she’d particularly aggravated him, he hid his body art to spite her.  
The cab finally pulled up at the entrance of Hermione’s apartment building. Draco saw Rhys’ car and Colby’s moped, but didn’t see anyone else’s mode of transport.  
Hermione owned a penthouse apartment, so Draco had to get the elevator up. The doorman merely nodded at his appearance instead of sneering at him condescendingly; an improvement to what he usually did. Draco was glad: the doorman often treated him as less than, which grated on his nerves, greatly tempting him to use his father’s power to deal with the doorman. However, he knew a certain person would murder him if he resorted to such measures.  
Maybe Hermione talked to the doorman, which would explain why he was being remotely civil to Draco.  
Upon reaching her apartment, he noticed the door was ajar, and walked in.  
He saw Rhys lounging against the wall, headphones curving around his head, expressionless as ever, dressed in black as usual. Colby sat in a large wicker chair, his legs drawn up to his chest, texting. The half-Korean’s outfit did nothing to enhance what little masculine features he had, but Draco knew Colby didn’t give two shits. Currently, Colby wore an oversized sweater and jean shorts, with thick socks and combats.  
“Yo, Rhys. Colby.”  
Both men looked up and acknowledged Draco.  
Colby grinned. “Yo, Lucy. What’s up?”  
“Did you come straight from a shoot?” Draco could see makeup on Colby’s face.  
Colby rolled his eyes. “Yes. Ugh, this is why I should remember to bring wipes, but, I fucking don’t. I got hit on by straight white boys who thought I was a girl.”  
“To be honest, you kinda look like one.”  
Scowling, Colby got up.  
“Where are you going, _babe_?”  
Colby stomped out the room, though not before pulling the finger at Draco. “I’m going to clean this shit off my face. Why do they always put so much on me? Do they not realize how long it takes to fucking _exfoliate_ after a shoot? _God_!”  
Draco laughed at Colby’s retreating figure. He knew Colby didn’t really hate being hit on. According to him, being able to attract any gender was a gift that should be exploited.  
Draco proceeded to find Hermione. He made his way into the kitchen, seeing that not only was Hermione there, but Xavier as well. They were huddled together by the sink, whispering furiously to each other.  
“Yo Granger, Bordeau.”  
Startled, the pair quickly broke apart.  
Hermione seemed peeved. “Draco! Give a warning next time.”  
He raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been here for approximately ten minutes. You were probably too involved in your conversation to notice.”  
“Oh, I’m so sorry Draco,” Hermione was sheepish. “Xavier and I were discussing something that came up.”  
“What? I was having a surprisingly enjoyable Saturday with someone unexpected, then you had to call. I left them all by themselves in Regent’s Park. It was very rude.”  
“Ooh, who was it Draco? Do I know them?”  
Draco smirked, pleased to have this over Hermione.  
She looked like she wanted to shake the truth out of him. Draco had always found Granger’s insatiable pursuit of knowledge irritating throughout their academic years, but now it was endearing. Especially since he could taunt her with it.  
“I’ll tell you later, Hermy. By the way, you should go check on Colby. He’s in your bathroom raiding your stuff.”  
Hermione looked horrified. “What! Why?”  
“You called him during a shoot. He had no time to clean off his makeup.”  
“Oh no! Was he modelling as Kwang or as Colby?”  
“Well, he said straight white boys kept hitting on him, so I assume Colby.”  
Colby, apart from being their bassist, worked as an androgynous model. What made him different however, was that he swapped between names when he was modelling as either a boy or a girl. When Draco first learnt about what he did, he was concerned if Colby had any confusion with his gender identity. Colby assured him that no, he was pretty confident with his gender. He just enjoyed the thrill of being a ‘trap’.  
Hermione squeaked and rapidly exited her kitchen, running down the hallway to the bathroom, her calls of apology being met with indignation.  
Draco chuckled to himself and then turned back to Xavier, who was watching him intensely.  
“What is it, Xavier?”  
He shrugged. “It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you in a non-performance setting. You look different.”  
“In what way? If you’re talking about my clothes, then I was hanging out with someone today that doesn’t know me outside of work.”  
“Wait, you spent the day with a work colleague? Who was this person, Draco? You never hang out with people from your work.”  
Draco smiled. “I’ll tell you later when Hermione gets back. I know she’d kill me if I told you before her. Anyway, we have to head back to the lounge. I want to see if Argent has arrived yet.”  
Draco turned to leave the kitchen, but Xavier grabbed his arm, pulling him closer. He was again struck by Xavier’s height, which was steadfastly ignored since Xavier was a good six inches taller than him.  
“A _bit_ close, aren’t we Xavier?”  
“We used to be so _much_ closer Draco.”  
“Yes. As if I could forget. First person of the male gender I dated, as I recall.”  
Xavier frowned. “Be serious.”  
“Why should I be serious when what I think you’re trying to do is so preposterous?”  
“Draco,” Xavier said desperately. “We were young then. It’s been several years. I’m sure we can start again.”  
“Xavier, I’d prefer it if we stayed friends. Our relationship has run its course, and frankly, I cannot see you in that light again.”  
Xavier sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. Draco’s eyes followed the movement. Xavier had lovely hands with long slender fingers. Fingers which were so adept at playing the guitar, cooking, taking Draco apart-  
No. He would _not_ go there.  
“Xavier. What we had was great. Really great. But you and I both knew that it was not going to last. We’re better off as friends.”  
“ _Friends_.”  
“Yes, friends. What we’ve been for the past few years, Please don’t ruin it.”  
Xavier sighed. “Alright Draco. But I just want you to know, you’ll always be special to me.”  
“And you to me.” Draco sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Now let’s head to the living room before I throw up from the clichés I’ve been spouting.”  
Xavier laughed. “As you wish, Draco.”  
“As you wish.”

“Okay, so. Thank you guys for coming on such short notice.”  
Hermione looked around at all of them, her eyes resting on each of them for a few seconds before moving to the next person.  
There were mutters of reassurances from everyone, though Argent looked particularly peeved. Draco knew it was because he had to leave his girlfriend immediately after their first date in months to get here.  
To be fair, Hermione never joked or overreacted when she called an urgent meeting. It usually meant that something had popped up which would cause an alteration to their regular schedules.  
“Alright, the first thing is that the date of the magazine photo shoot has been moved.”  
“To when?” Rhys asked.  
“Monday.”  
There was a sharp intake of breath from everyone. Draco spoke first.  
“You know that’s going to be difficult, Hermy. I have work.”  
Argent scowled. “And you’re so special. We all have work too, Draco.”  
Draco’s eyes narrowed.“I fucking know that. However, I’m the only one whose day job has no link to the media. I mean, Colby’s a model, Rhys is a producer. Argent, you’re a screenwriter, and Xavier owns a rather lucrative music store chain. I’m just the heir to a global business conglomerate, where everyone still thinks I’m the spoiled bratty kid from high school.”  
Xavier nodded in agreement. “He’s right, Argent. While you and Colby don’t have fixed hours, Rhys doesn’t go in on Mondays, and I’m self-employed, Draco doesn’t have those liberties.”  
Argent grumbled about Draco getting special treatment, but begrudgingly acknowledged the truth. Draco knew Argent was angry only because his girlfriend wasn’t with him right now.  
“Why did they move the date anyway? What came up?” asked Colby; his face clear of the makeup that had taken nearly twenty minutes to clean off.  
Hermione’s voice was small. “It got leaked that the band was going to participate in a photoshoot, and that some well-known faces would be there, like producer Rhys Gallahan and model Kwang Gwon Chong.”  
Colby and the usually stoic Rhys looked startled.  
Colby leant forward. “They managed to trace us back to the band?”  
She shook her head.“Not really. They just know ‘Kwang’ has some affiliation with the bassist and Rhys is one of their producers.” Hermione hung her head in shame.“I’m sorry this got out. It was never meant to happen. I should’ve kept more of an eye on who associated with you guys”  
Colby cooed and hugged the disheartened Hermione.“Mione, don’t worry about it. You’re not omniscient. You can’t know everything.”  
“But I’m the manager! I should keep abreast of these things!”  
Draco rolled his eyes and scoffed, causing everyone to turn and look at him.  
“What is it, Draco? Do you have something to say?” Hermione gave him a woeful look.  
“Yes, I do.You’re right, Hermy. You are our manager, which means that anything that could jeopardize our privacy, you should know about. So you failed there.”  
There were exclamations of outrage from the rest of the band, and Hermione gaped at him in shock. Nevertheless, Draco carried on.  
“But before you take my statement out of context, Colby is right. You are not omniscient. You don’t know the ulterior motives of everyone. People can hide their true selves under a nigh on impenetrable façade. I mean, look at me!  
“The fact is, you found out about the leak and did your best to fix it. So what if it’s inconvenient that we have a shoot on Monday? At least our privacy is secured. At least we won’t be bombarded by dipshits who think they know us better than we know ourselves. And that’s _all that matters_ , Hermione Granger. Make sure you remember that.”  
Hermione’s face lit up, and within a fraction of a second, a weepy, overly-emotional woman launched herself into his unexpectant arms, while the rest of the band observed amusedly from a safe distance.  
“Oh my gosh, thank you Draco! You’re such a good friend. I really needed that.”  
Draco rolled his eyes and extracted himself from her grasp, but a faint blush tinged his cheeks.“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I just did what I had to.”He shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the attention.  
“Alright, let’s get back to the meeting, please? I have places to be.” Argent’s scowl, despite his volatile anger which had been present from arrival, had dimmed in the face of Hermione’s tears.  
“Oh, sorry Argent.” Hermione tried to appear presentable after her outburst. “Okay guys, I know we just went on break from performing, but we’ve been booked for another show which happens in 10 days.”  
“But we just went on break!” Colby’s pout was petulant, reflecting Draco’s current mood.  
Colby was right. They’d just finished touring around London and further outside the city, yet to have embarked on a UK tour, despite their growing fanbase.  
“Don’t worry boys, we’re not booked for anything after that, though…”  
“Gigs might pop up?” Argent finished.  
A nod was given in reply.  
Xavier sank into his chair and exhaled deeply. “I’m sorry guys,” he began, resulting in everyone turning to him.  
“What do you mean, Bordeau?” Argent.  
“Yeah, what’s the matter, Professor X?” Colby.  
“A scout from Firebolt Records will be at the venue on the night we’re performing, so I asked if we could play then. The owner said yes.”  
Everyone, even Rhys, gaped at Xavier.  
“F-Firebolt Records?! What!” Draco sputtered, eyes wide.  
“Dude, if I wasn’t in a committed relationship right now, I’d kiss you.” Argent whispered, gazing in awe at Xavier.  
“A scout from Firebolt Records? That’s pretty impressive Xavier,” said Rhys, speaking for the first time since the meeting started.  
Further murmurs of “We might get signed if they like us” or “We’ll be able to produce more albums if we have a contract.”  
Draco, after his first outburst, said nothing.He really had nothing to say. He had the chance to get signed to one of the biggest independent labels out there, big like Emi or Fueled by Ramen.  
He smiled.  
If he got signed, he could start seeking approval from Lucius about the possibilities in a lucrative musical career, which he’d shot down so many times before.  
That was why he kept the band as a ‘side job’. Lucius would never accept him and his life if he decided to become a full time musician. He’d barely accepted it when Draco told him he liked guys as well as girls, if not having more of an inclination to date the same sex. He was aware that his father wanted an heir, and he understood why he might find it hard to accept that he might never have a biological grandchild.  
Going to Lucius Malfoy with all that behind you, having the nerve to ask to join a band… that took a lot of guts.  
But with the possibility of being signed to Firebolt Records, he’d be able to back up his proposal with something concrete behind it.  
“Draco?”  
Hermione’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Colby was giving him a concerned look.  
“What’s up, Dray? You seem out of it.”  
Even Argent looked slightly concerned. “You alright man? I know I was being a dick earlier, but you know what I’m like. We know how much getting that record deal would mean to you.”  
Rhys hummed in agreement and Xavier murmured his assent.  
Draco felt flattered by his friends’ concern. But as he was unaccustomed to such displays of affection, there was also an underlying sense of discomfort.  
“Oh look, you’re making the daddy’s boy uncomfortable.”  
Colby, despite the comment, was a great friend at helping to ease his obvious lack of comfort. Nevertheless, Draco blushed.  
“Shut up, Colby. Can we get back to the meeting? Please?”

***

Afterwards, Draco, Colby, and Hermione relaxed in the lounge of Hermione’s penthouse. Xavier left first, after a brief exchange with Hermione. Argent vanished soon after, calling his girlfriend and whispering sweet nothings about how he would make it up to her after their romantic evening was cut short. Rhys left silently, but his departure was duly acknowledged.  
The relationship between Colby, Draco and Hermione was a strange one. From the founding of the band by Colby and Draco, along with Hermione agreeing to be their manager, there had been some discord between Hermione and Draco.  
Throught their secondary school years, Draco had been an indomitable shit towards Hermione - constantly belittling her due to her scholarship student status. It didn’t help that she was one of the ‘Golden Trio’, Harry’s little group, _and_ that she always tied with him in exams.  
After Draco left Hogwarts, he realized the error of his ways and sought to make amends with many of the people he’d wronged. He never had the chance to apologize to Hermione though, simply because she said it was fine and that she was over it, but he knew that she was still greatly affected by it. Draco also _still_ had no idea how to deal with her.  
Luckily, Colby, who most people took for granted because of his tendency to goof off, stepped in and diffused the growing tension between the two. It took several months, but finally, the one-sided animosity was gone and both Draco and Hermione could work on becoming friends.  
Now, Draco lounged casually, playing Piano Tiles on his phone while Hermione made tea in the kitchen. Colby had his earphones plugged in as he listened to music, humming along and following the bass with his taped fingers.  
Draco remembered Colby telling him how photographers often had to photoshop his hands in pictures as he had obvious callouses, and how they unnerved the stylists to no end. However, much to the chagrin of his coworkers in the fashion industry, Colby would have to give up playing bass in order to lose the callouses.  
“Hardly fucking likely,” Draco recalled Colby snorting, before running his hand up the fret of his bass. They were at Draco’s house practicing at the time, and it was then that Draco wondered if Colby valued his guitar more than his own life. Though, to be fair, Draco had the same sentiments towards his Ducati.  
Hermione then returned from the kitchen, with three cups on a tray.  
“Earl Grey for me, peppermint with one sugar for Draco and _Matcha_ for Colby.” She cocked her head at Colby, who paused his music when she came in. Similarly, Draco placed down his phone.  
“Why are you drinking _Matcha_ anyway?” Hermione asked. “You always drink black chai with a tablespoon of sugar.”  
Colby shrugged. “I need to increase my metabolism. I’m not burning food fast enough. The agency is saying I’m getting a bit pudgy even though I exercise more than some of the other models there.”  
“Maybe it’s because you model typically female oriented clothing, so they’re holding you to those standards, I suppose.”  
Colby weighed up Hermione’s theory, before turning to Draco. “What about you Dray? What do you think about me losing weight?”  
“You’re a twig,” came the blunt answer. “A strong gust of wind could easily blow you away.”  
Colby laughed while Hermione gave the model a level stare.  
“Colby, you need to do this more healthily. Go on an extra run, or do a few yoga classes. No need to diet.”  
Colby blushed.  
“And anyway, you don’t only model female clothing, you model male clothing as well, so I don’t understand what your agency’s problem is.”  
“Hehe… can we talk about something different now? Like how Draco was pissed when he arrived at the meeting.”  
“Oh yeah!” Hermione’s face lit up. “If I recall, you said: ‘I was having a surprisingly enjoyable day with someone unexpected’. I wonder who that unexpected person was?”  
“Oh. That. I was supposed to tell Xavier about it as well, though he left so abruptly. I wonder why.”  
“He said something came up.”  
“Really?”  
Hermione nodded.  
“Alright then. He obviously didn’t want to know.”  
Hermione utterly ignored that statement,and grabbed onto him. “So, who was that ‘unexpected person’? Do tell.”  
Draco sighed dramatically, as though it was a great tribulation to say who it was. “I hung out with one Harry Potter.”  
Colby spit out his tea the same time Hermione shrieked.  
“You hung out with Harry?”  
“You spent the day with Scarhead?”  
“Colby!”  
“What? That’s usually what Draco refers to him as. I thought it was an affectionate nickname.”  
“ _Affectionate nickname_.”  
Colby held up his hands in surrender. “I won’t say anymore. But seriously, you hung out with him?”  
Draco nodded. “Yeah, it was fun. He knows little of London. It’s quite sad.”  
“I guess. He usually hangs out around Oxford Street and that area of London.”  
“Really, Hermione? You’re his friend and all he knows of London is Oxford Street? For shame.”  
Hermione appeared thoughtful and said, “To be fair, he still sees me as the bookish girl he met in secondary, despite all that’s happened. I wonder why.”  
“Hermy, does Potter and the Weasel have any idea that your usual attire is ripped jeans and Docs?”  
She stared at Draco. “Does Harry know that you have more piercings than the bar through your eyebrow? I heard all about that by the way.”  
Draco sighed.  
“He overreacted so much about it. I still don’t get why. Why did he care so much about a bar through my eyebrow? Better yet, why is he trying to be friends with me? This makes no sense.”  
“To answer your first question,” Colby interjected, taking another sip of his tea, “it’s because of his pre-conceived image of ‘Draco Malfoy’. You were supposed to be the heir of the Malfoy Empire, following effortlessly in your father’s footsteps.”  
“And now he’s found out you’re not,” Hermione added, ever the voice of reason.  
“You have an eyebrow piercing, typically seen as an expression of defiance, a trait he thought you in no way possessed. He has had to reevaluate his prior misconceptions and rethink his eventual course of action.”  
“And she’s answered question two! What would we do without you analysing our problems?” Colby gazed ‘admiringly’ at her. She sighed theatrically in return.  
“You would all be wallowing in collective misery. You desire my infinite knowledge more than you realise.”  
Draco laughed at their antics. Apart from Blaise and Pansy, who worked in Milan and was touring with their band, respectively, Hermione and Colby were his best friends.  
“So, Dray, what did you do with Harry to make the day enjoyable?” The wink from Colby was over exaggerated and completely in jest. Draco nearly threw his saucer at him.  
“Oh my God, fuck off Colby!”  
The laughter that followed echoed through the entire apartment.

***

Draco, despite his anxiety, took the day off work on Monday. In all honesty, Draco had saved up enough paid leave to have six months off, but he wouldn’t be taking it anytime soon. He’d only do so when the band secured a proper tour.  
So, he sat, in nervous anticipation, at the photographer’s reception. He was meeting the band at his office first to fully discuss the plans for the shoot, then they would go to the actual location.  
Draco was unable to sleep because of the guilt gnawing at him, so he willingly stayed up to finish some urgent paperwork.  
In his nervousness, his foot kept nudging the sports bag by his feet, despite knowing that moving it constantly would crease the clothing inside. He didn’t want to be photographed in what he was wearing; chinos, a sweater, and loafers. Sure, he had several piercings in, but it only contrasted with the outfit.  
Hermione and Xavier arrived just then, both dressed casually. Xavier had a knapsack thrown over his shoulder, old jeans, and T-shirt gracing his figure.  
It was the one thing that always annoyed Draco about Xavier. He could literally make anything look like a new fashion trend. Fucking wanker.  
“Morning Draco! How are you?”  
As long as he’s known her, Draco knew Hermione was a morning person. The same couldn’t be applied to him.  
Draco merely scowled in response to her question. She grinned in retaliation.  
“Where’s everyone else?” Draco asked.  
Xavier shrugged. “I’m unaware of Argent’s and Rhys’ location, but Colby is-”  
“Here, bitches!” Colby strode in, clothed in a cardigan and yoga pants.  
“Colby, shut up please. It’s way too early.”  
“It’s eight, Draco, plus wouldn’t you have work?”  
“Of course. However, I hide my hatred of mornings under pretense.”  
Colby pouted patronizingly. “Aw, Dray.”  
“Fuck off, Colby.”  
Argent and Rhys walked in together a few minutes later, causing Draco’s anxiety to diminish slightly.  
Draco wasn’t sure why he was even nervous, since he was a relatively calm person. Maybe it was because his dad had only found out about of his day off when he walked into his office and saw the frantic email Millicent had sent him. Maybe it was because this was the first voluntary day he had in over a year. Maybe it was because these photos were going to be the first majorly publicised photos of the band.  
Maybe it was none of those things.  
Draco sighed and mussed up his hair, making it stick up at odd angles and hang weirdly around his face.  
Beside him, Hermione tutted and moved to fix his disheveled locks, but a cry of “No!” halted her fingers, and the ensuing flash of light momentarily blinded them.  
“Don’t touch his hair! It’s so _wild_! And the contrast with his outfit! Genius!”  
Finally able to see again, Draco deduced that a photo had been taken of him and that the person in front of them was the photographer.  
Draco scowled at the guy, who squeaked excitedly.  
“Look at his face! It’s a face made for looking contemptuous!”  
Colby sniggered behind the photographer, sitting crossed legged on a chair. “You got that right. It’s in his blood.”  
The photographer nodded as if he knew.  
“He looks like he would be.” Draco felt his chin being grabbed, forcing him to face the photographer.  
The blonde took a long look. The man was well fed, overweight with slightly curly hair and a jolly looking face. Well, not at that moment as the man was attempting to appear stern.  
“I want no classist slurs from you, you hear me? My establishment is mostly run by people of mixed heritage, with no proper split like half bloods and purebloods like yourself. In my place, everyone is on the same level. Is that clear?”  
Draco smirked, earning himself a frown.  
“Crystal. Though you should be telling that to Colby. _He’s_ the real diva.” There was an indignant shout from said person. “I fully accept your authority. Today, you’re in charge.”  
The photographer seemed startled by Draco’s instant acquiescence. The blond supposed the man had dealt with some of the old pureblood families. To be frank, though the Malfoy’s were an old family, they were generally willing to look past class to get what they wanted.  
“Don’t worry sir. Out of our group of six, only two of us are actually purebloods.” Hermione had to pipe in, ever the knowledge keeper.  
“Is this true?”  
“Yeah, Xavier here is from an powerful old French line and Lucien,”- Draco never used his real name for band business - “ is from equally old lines on both sides.”  
The man nodded, then turned his scepticism on her.  
“And you?”  
“Oh, I’m just muggle.” Draco raised an eyebrow at her crude use of the slang term. Hermione rarely used colloquialisms, especially ones that referred to her social station. She often lamented on the degradation it caused her. “It’s the same with Argent, our drummer. Rhys, our second slash rhythm guitarist is a half-blood.”  
“What about the pretty one?” the photographer pointed at Colby, who preened at being called ‘pretty’.  
In response to his question, Colby shrugged. “I’m pure blooded by technicality.”  
The man looked confused. Draco couldn’t blame him, even though all this talk of blood status was annoying him. He hated talking about it. It had resulted in so much heartache for him over the years, so he preferred to ignore it completely.  
“What do you mean by technicality?”  
“My mom’s from a Korean pureblood family, and my dad barely constitutes as society’s standards of a halfblood. While I’m not fully ‘pure’, or whatever English people like to call it, I was adopted as one by my mother’s side.”  
The photographer narrowed his eyes at Colby.  
“So what do you refer to yourself as?”  
Colby stared back. “I prefer to call myself Eurasian as I refuse to ascribe to some arbitrary system of primogeniture. Same as how Xav is French, Draco is part French, Rhys is Welsh, and Hermione and Argent are English. I don’t understand why you want to find out how closely related we are to whatever royal court we fall under.”  
The photographer bowed his head.  
“I apologize. I believe we have spent a considerable amount of time with pleasantries, so let’s get started.”  
“Um,” Argent butted in. “I’m actually of Irish and Eastern European descent so…”  
“Whatever.”

*** 

Draco leaned over the wooden railing of the bridge, staring wistfully at the brook that flowed through the park. Colby was on his left, back against the railing, head tilted upwards as the sun reflected on his blue black locks. Draco gave him a sidelong glance, and Colby, seeing it, smirked.  
“Great! I love the expression that you’re giving him! Show your feelings for each other through your _eyes_!”  
The photographer had been passionately photographing the band for the past four hours, first group photos, then singular, then in small groups; constant outfit and location changes and the occasional refreshment break.  
The photographer - who refused to give his name, instead stating that his photographic prowess would be identification enough - was completely eccentric, going on about feelings and emotion and _passion_.  
With this current spiel, Colby and Draco were posing on a bridge together, trying to give of the air of camaraderie and friendship without doing anything remotely friendly.  
Colby nearly started laughing after the photographer’s demands for expression. Draco, used to schooling his expression into something more neutral, almost cracked as well. He and Colby? Ha!  
Colby fluttered his eyelashes at him. “Dray, the love of my life, let me express my deep feelings for you through the depths of mine eyes.”  
“Colby dearest, your gaze doth captureth my heart, which is filled with emotion for you.”  
No longer able to hold it in, the two laughed, holding each other and the bridge for support. They heard the flashes of the camera, but their laughter couldn’t stop.  
“Colby, babe, our love is just so strong.”  
“Yes, Dray sweetie. It can move mountains.”  
They descended into laughter again, though it was quickly stopped by Hermione throwing a water bottle at Draco’s head, which he easily caught without glancing in the incoming bottle’s direction.  
Colby stared at him in awe, causing Draco to shrug.  
“Sports reflexes.”  
“Huh. Whatever Charles Xavier. You’re a mutant.”  
“No, I was an obsessive adolescent who became astoundingly good at a game because I wanted to always be better at it than someone else.”  
“Mate.You’re still a mutant.”  
The photographer (Colby dubbed him Bob) allowed them to go off on lunch break a few minutes later, so Colby and Draco went together to find food. They eventually found a food truck, deciding to stuff themselves with cheesy wedges and fried chicken. When reminded of his need to keep weight off, Colby retorted, saying that no model agency would stop him from eating fried chicken.  
The duo, their faces hidden by sunglasses, ate lunch and and took photos in nondescript places, making the likelihood of fans finding them slim. There was still talk of the now cancelled Saturday shoot, but due to privacy issues, the band never corrected them. Speculators were already saying that the shoot was either cancelled or moved to another date, so Draco felt he could risk a photograph. He and Colby took enough photos together often enough to dissolve suspicion.  
Content from lunch, the boys lay back on the grass and chatted amicably. It was then Colby spotted Harry walking through the park.  
“Scarhead, four o’clock”  
Draco, tempted to move and sit up, wisely lay where was, hoping Harry didn’t come over and blow his cover.  
Colby seemed to sense his anxiety. “Draco, calm down. He thought he recognized you, but the tats put him off. You’re fine.”  
“Thank God,” Draco muttered, before rolling over onto his stomach. He was splayed on Colby’s lap, and immediately, Colby’s fingers tangled in his hair.  
“Don’t mess up my hair,” was said without intent, and Draco snuggled into Colby’s lap, floating between wakefulness and sleep.  
“Colby.”  
“Hmm?”  
“Today was nice.”  
“I know Dray. I know.”

*** 

“Hey, Draco!”  
He turned, facing Harry. It was around lunch, the first time today that Draco had seen the former Gryffindor.  
“Hello Harry. How are you?”  
“Don’t be so polite Draco. We’ve mutually known each other for how long?”  
“Six weeks.” Harry was surprised by this, yet waved it away.  
“Well, being so polite isn’t necessary.”  
“We are in a professional setting.”  
“Whatever.”  
Regardless of their improving relationship, Potter’s nonchalance about certain things still annoyed him. He didn’t think they would ever stop irritating him.  
“Anyway Draco, I saw your punk lookalike yesterday.”  
Draco’s heart stuttered a bit. “Oh really?”  
Harry nodded. “Yeah! I thought it was you, but then I saw all the edgy clothing and tattoos and thought, that’s not Malfoy. Plus he was hanging out with another guy. His really, really attractive boyfriend.”  
Draco smirked. “Jealous of a stranger?”  
“Heck yes! Your punk lookalike’s boyfriend was gorgeous. Absolutely beautiful.” Harry appeared wistful.  
“If I didn’t actually know how gay you are, Potter, I’d be concerned.”  
“Whatever, Draco. By the way,”  
Draco paused. “Yes?”  
“Your father wants to speak with you.”  
A frown graced the blond’s aristocratic features, and he massaged his temples with his fingers. The thought of speaking with his father was giving him a headache.  
Harry gave him a concerned look, and Draco absently thought that it suited him.  
“Thanks for telling me, Harry.” He smiled at his coworker, who returned the expression.  
“No problem, Draco. Good luck.”  
“I’ll definitely need it,” Draco muttered.

***

Lucius Malfoy’s office was a large room with windows on three sides, its views overlooking the city. The expanse and city-scape backing made Lucius reminiscent of a god.  
Draco scathingly thought that his father saw himself as one sometimes.  
“You called for me, Father?”  
The man in question looked up from the papers he was reading. “I did. You are coming over for dinner this week.”  
Draco paled. Impromptu dinners usually meant his father wanted to speak to him about something. “May I ask why?”  
Lucius placed the papers down on his desk and gave Draco a level stare. “I don’t believe I have to explain myself, and you will find out soon enough on Thursday.”  
Draco’s spine became concrete and his expression blank. “Is that all you need to see me for, Father?”  
Lucius, who had went back to analysing the papers on his desk, only nodded in acknowledgment. “That is all, Draco.”  
The younger Malfoy left the office feeling as if snake wrapped around his arm came to life and sank its venomous fangs into Draco’s wrist.  
The feeling did not leave him until he retired hours later.  
*  
Draco’s _Berlinetta_ fit in nicely with the aristocratic appearance of his family’s ancestral estate.  
As a child, he had loved Malfoy Manor, with its sprawling and immaculate gardens and elegant rooms. He recalled parties his parents held in the exorbitant ballroom. Truth be told, he saw himself as king of his very own kingdom in his childhood fantasies, but now, age and life experience taught him better.  
His house was just evidence of years and years of primogeniture.  
One of the many servants that his father had met him at the entrance of the house to park his car for him.  
“Good evening, Master Malfoy sir. Dinner this evening will be held in the usual dining room. Would you like me to take your coat?” The servant, Dobson, bowed gracefully before relieving Draco of his outerwear.  
Sauntering to the west wing dining room, Draco observed how the house had been changed since his last visit. Although the general decor had not changed - Malfoy Manor had the status of a listed heritage site - Draco could see the effects of general renovations.  
Upon entering the dining room, he could see his father sitting imposingly at the head of the table, his gaze fixed firmly on his mother’s place at the other end of the table. Draco wouldn’t dare sit there, even if his mother was not here to take her place. Tonight’s dinner was solely between his father and himself.  
“You’re late, Draco,” Lucius stated coldly, his gaze unwavering from his mother’s place. “You are aware that dinner starts promptly at seven, no later, no earlier.”  
Draco glanced at his watch as the time turned to 7:01.  
“Oh dear,” Draco replied with equal frigidity. “I apologize for causing you to wait.”  
His father’s face turned towards him, a sneer instantly painted on his features as he appraised Draco’s appearance. Not only was Draco’s wardrobe of a cardigan, polo shirt and chino shorts too casual for the type of dinner this was, but his sleeves and piercings were on full display. The blond willfully refrained from wearing all fourteen of his facial piercings, but his stretchers, snakebites, and faithful eyebrow bar was obvious to see.  
“Draco Lucius Malfoy, I do believe that you have made it your self-declared goal to be impertinent towards me. What is with that heathenous get-up you decided to throw on tonight?”  
“Is it a crime to dress casually in my own _home_?” Draco spat back at his father.  
He sat himself at his regular place, on the left side of the table in the centre.  
Immediately, as Draco knew it would, food appeared in front of him. He nodded his benediction to the servants before picking up his knife and fork to commence eating.  
“It’s good to see you haven’t forgotten all your lessons, Draco.”  
Lucius said it ‘offhandedly’, though the comment was clearly meant to spite him. Draco placed down his cutlery.  
“Draco,” his father tutted, seemingly affronted. “Do eat your food. Your mother and I taught you better than this. You will offend the staff if your food is left unfinished.”  
Draco scowled. “No. I’d rather get this out of the way now. What _is_ your problem father?”  
Lucius’ glare was fiery.  
“My ‘problem’ is you taking a day off work to participate in something to do with this ‘band’ of yours”  
“So? I have accumulated well over half a year’s worth of paid leave! What does it matter that I’ve taken a day off?”  
“Remember the deal we had about not allowing one of these two ‘lives’ you have to affect the other in any way?”  
“Is this it? Father, is was a one off. The original day was compromised, so they moved it to a more viable day.”  
Lucius’ grip on his cutlery tightened. “That is just an excuse, Draco. This is just the first one. Then another will come along. Then another until your focus has left Abraxas Inc. completely!”  
Draco sighed, fisting platinum locks in his hands. “Father, my focus has _never_ been on A.I. Why can’t you understand that?”  
“Draco, you cannot possibly make a viable career out of music. Have you seen how fickle that industry is? It’s entirely impractical.”  
“But it’s what makes me happy father. Truly happy.”  
“Happiness can’t give you financial stability. Plus, when has a Malfoy forayed into the entertainment industry? It’s unbecoming of our name.”  
Draco stood abruptly, his eyes blazing. “Oh.” his voice was quiet, yet laced with poison. “I see. You’re worried I’d bring shame to the family.”  
Lucius realized he had hit a nerve, though he continued his argument.  
“Draco, being a lead singer of a, what do you call it, hardcore band is not something that Malfoys do.”  
“Do you seriously think that I would let _my_ passion infringe on something that could potentially destroy it? Oh my god, father.”  
Draco wiped his hands on his napkin and proceeded to leave the dining room.  
“Draco, where are you going? You haven’t finished dinner.”  
“Yes I have, father.” Stopping at the doorway, Draco turned.  
“You know, I had really good news to share with you, but you obviously don’t care about your own child’s achievements outside of your self-controlled arena. I should have guessed.”  
“Draco-”  
“Good night, father.”  
Dobson was at the door with his coat and car keys, along with another servant who looked to a few years younger than Draco.  
“I apologize Master Draco, but Blake here wanted to meet you.”  
Blake was a wide eyed boy that seemed barely out of high school, but Draco was informed that the boy was 21.  
“It’s a pleasure to meet you Lucien- I mean, Master Draco. I hope you have a pleasant evening.”  
Draco raised an eyebrow.  
“It was nice meeting you too Blake. Have a great night.”  
After getting into his car, Draco sped away from the Manor, his driving becoming reckless. Remembering that one of the band members lived in the area, he decided to go by their place. It was only 10 minutes later he’d arrived outside their house.  
He hadn’t even gotten out of his car before Colby was at his front door, dressed in a onesie. Draco could only laugh at his appearance. Colby returned it with a grin.  
“Dinner with dad went sour?”  
“Yep.”  
“Alright then, come in. I’m rewatching Carmilla.”  
Draco’s eyes widened. “What episode?”  
“Number two.”  
“Ooh, hurry up, let me get inside. This is where it all starts.”

*** 

Despite Colby’s efforts to help him calm down about Thursday, Draco was still stewing about it on Friday and it continued into Saturday, the day of the performance to Firebolt.  
Draco’s outfit of a sweater, skinny jeans and Vans was a lot less dressy than what he usually wore but Draco was having a hard time thinking straight. Even as he made the transition from Draco to Lucien, part of his unsettled anger towards his father remained.  
“Hey guys, we’re _From Me to You_ ,” Lucien drawled at the cheering audience. “We’re starting with _Why Would You Care_.”  
The crowd swelled with a ‘Whoop!’ as Xavier played the opening chords of the song.

_These hands are broken and calloused, but nobody seems to notice.  
And you yelled it into permanence.  
Have you ever come to hate the very thing that you helped to create?  
Cause that’s how I feel everyday._

Lucien let all his frustration out into his singing. His agitation was humming under his skin, rage clawing at his throat. It was almost leading him to inflict bodily harm, but he channelled that feeling into singing.  


_I am expendable, but I guess that’s just the way things go.  
I’m a ghost in foreign postal codes losing faith in what brings you hope. _

_On the outside looking in  
Or on the inside sitting in the corner. It’s all the same to me.  
I got my hopes up. I thought I was out of the shadows.  
But I’m buried six feet underneath what I worked four years to achieve._

He couldn’t understand his father. Why couldn’t he see how far he had come? He spent years working to get where he was now. Why couldn’t his father see that?  


_While they were sleeping.  
While you were sleeping. _

_I am expendable, but I guess that’s just the way things go.  
I’m a ghost in foreign postal codes losing faith in what brings you hope._

Lucien was aware of what his father thought of him performing. Lucius Malfoy always said that he took after his mother, and Lucien could accept that fact.  
However, to Lucius, it meant that Lucien was too soft hearted to understand the realities of the world, that Lucien let trivialities, and flights of fancy influence his decisions. But Lucius was unaware of the nights when sleeplessness wracked him, and he spent hours writing and composing, of attempts to get different recording labels to listen to them but getting rejected. Their first gig.  
Rhys began to sing the bridge.

_Home alone where all of my doubts are born.  
Home alone where all of my fears are formed. _

Lucien chanted the final verse into the microphone. 

_I’m sick and tired of hating who I’ve become  
It’s getting worse every day I spend home alone  
Writing myself to death stands in place of sleep.  
I am an unlocked door and you’re a fucking thief. _

Rhys kept singing, the words switching to “ _But why would you care? No, why would you care at all?_ ”“ as Lucien nodded his head in time with the beat, his hands wrapped tightly around the mic stand, crying out the final words of the song. 

_And you’re a fucking thief_

Lucien closed his eyes, thinking about his father. The man who raised him. All the memories, good, bad, vivid, fading. So wrapped was he around Draco’s life, removing him was akin to stealing something from himself. 

_And you’re a fucking thief_

His father really was. 

_***  
_

_I heard the old man’s voice break, stutter once then stop it. I heard  
A sentence started confidently halted by the sudden absence of a word.  
Stumbled and he sputtered trying to find it back, something once so simple gone now.  
When he finally gave up told me, “Aw, it’s like hell getting old.”_

__When you came into the store, did you know you’d show me your scars?_  
_

_Edward Benz, 27 Times_ was a song based on a story Xavier told him about a man he met while working in a hardware and DIY store.  


_I had a heavy heart, he carried a door, it’s shattered pane all wrapped in plastic and he asked if I could fix it, come by a little later help him put it back on hinges. “See, I’m far too old to lift it and it’s not for my house,  
It’s my son’s.”  
When you opened up the door, what is it you thought you’d find?  
_

_(Nobody flinch)_

The man was very old. According to Xav, he was wrinkled and scarred in visible places. He had asked for help in repairing and reinstalling the door, and while installing the door wasn’t a part of his job description, Xavier decided to help the old man 

_Later I came by and backed into the driveway. Got out to find him waiting there to lead me through the side yard to back behind the house where the door frame stood empty and helped me keep it steady while I hammered all the pins in then later on the porch we somehow got to talking, he told me of the house and how his son is schizophrenic so they purchased it for him, the medication working and they figured it would help him fit in-help him lead a normal life.  
But the pills made him sleep too much. And he couldn’t keep a job as a Result so one day he just gave up on taking them.  
And that day she had called you, he’d locked her outside of the house.  
How quickly did you get there? And what were you thinking while walking up? What fears flashed in front of you, taunted you, walking to unlock the door?_

Lucien remembered the story vividly, exactly how Xavier told it. Edward Benz’s story stayed with Lucien, prompting him to write about the elderly man’s tragedy.  


_I remember it, Ed. That story you told me came back clear tonight here while writing. And you should know the feeling never left me-the weight of my heart-when you showed me the scars on your arms, when I looked in your eyes and I heard what you said how you probably would’ve died were it not for to care for your daughter and wife. How he drove in the knife, still your son.  
How you seemed to look through me to some old projector screen playing back the scene as you described it on a movie reel, as real as the minute when it happened, that memory moving behind me. That moment that changed you for good._  


Because of how bizarre it was, Lucien researched the story. There wasn’t much, but the information was there.  


_And he drove to the house and pulled into the driveway. Got out to find his wife waiting, frantic. She’d come by to check, found that pillbox was empty, went out to the pharmacy to fill up his prescription and came back to a locked door and could not get back in. She’d knocked and she’d knocked but he wasn’t responding.  
You put the key into the lock and turned it. Felt the bolt slide away. Slowly open. Went into the hall, his son held a knife, standing off in the shadows, lunged forward and tackled him. Stabbing him over and over and breaking that window. He fled up the staircase. The ambulance came, stitched and filled him with blood while the cops took his son with his wires so tangled his father was a stranger._

Lucien thought about his own father, long and hard after hearing Edward’s story. How similarly, his father had experienced a lot of difficulties in his life, and how they also left him with scars, albeit internal. How both Lucius and Edward still managed to carry on.  
Lucien thought about that a lot.  


_And I sit in my apartment.  
I’m getting no answers.  
I’m finding no peace, no release from the anger.  
I leave it at arm's length.  
I’m keeping my distance.  
From hotels and Jesus and blood on the carpet.  
I’m stomaching nothing.  
I’m reaching for no one.  
I’m leaving this city and I’m headed out to nowhere.  
I carry your image.  
Your grandfather’s coffin.  
And Ed, if you hear me, I think of you often._

Lucien was moved by Edward’s paternal love for his son, how it was unceasing, and without blame. He cast his mind to his father, and wondered if he could ever do the same for Lucien. That was something that gnawed constantly at him, as he wondered what path his father would take if something similar happened to Lucien. He just hoped that his father would be as honorable as Edward was.  


_That’s all I can offer.  
That’s all that I know how to give._

_***_

It had come to the final song in their set. Xavier whispered in his ear that he could see the Firebolt Records representative, and while Lucien nodded in acknowledgement, he didn’t care.  
He had thought that singing would help him, but singing only eased it slightly. The urge to scream was building in his chest.  
Xavier nodded to the rest of the band before turning to Lucien.  
“Ready?”  
He nodded.  
A riff resounded from the lead guitar, then:  


_Another day when the sun ain't shining  
Another night with the bottle I drown in  
Still hoping, still waiting, still breathing by a thread, still holding on  
Another day when the sun ain't shining  
Another night with the bottle I drown in  
Still hoping, still waiting, still breathing by a thread, still holding on_

The words spilled forth like a grating shout, bordering on the edge of shrill. Lucien’s eyes stared blankly into the darkness beyond the stage, focusing on no one; nothing.  
He was just so _tired_.  


_To my demons  
To every dying wish I've had of us leaving  
This ghost town still dragging us down  
To pull you out of this hell you've been living in with the needle_

_Every dying wish I've had that you would clean up  
Your lips, your let downs pulling me underground  
With every tired lie you tell just to fill your heart._

The mic stand was gripped firmly in Lucien’s hands, leaning out into the crowd. Lucien’s feelings about this song were mixed. He had written it as the piece of one of the darkest time in his life, when he was self-destructing. It was the most honest he has been with himself, but the fact that it was a song meant to be sung in front of people, Lucien did not really appreciate the vulnerability that the song made him feel.  
Seemingly ironic; the song was titled _No Shame_. 

_You thin your veins with the dirt, with the hurt, with the memories of the pain  
Still hoping, still waiting, still breathing by a thread, still holding on  
And I lost my faith in your god, in your word, in every promise that you break  
Still hoping, still waiting, still breathing by a thread, still holding on_

Lucien was surprised he still had anything left to hold on to. With everything going on with his father, he was so exhausted.  


_So I walk the same way home each night to find that back alley pusher and take his life  
And I ain't ashamed for what I've done  
I'll take an eye for an eye until every junkie is blind  
The river bed hold the blood and the knife_

_And I ain't ashamed for what I've done  
I took his eye as a prize  
The man who laid with my wife  
Lays at the bottom of that river where the sun never shines_

Lucien recalled destroying parts of himself, areas that were tainted, areas that he found no shame in destroying. 

_Another day when the sun ain't shining  
Another night with the bottle I drown in  
Still hoping, still waiting, still breathing by a thread, still holding on  
Another day when the sun ain't shining  
Another night with the bottle I drown in  
Still hoping, still waiting, still breathing by a thread, still holding on_

Lucien screamed the next line of the song, and it felt so good, he did it again, 

_Still holding on_  


And again.  


_Still holding on_  


And again.  


_Still holding on_

_Another day when the sun ain't shining  
Another night with the bottle I drown in  
Still hoping, still waiting, still breathing by a thread, still holding on_

Lucien was down on one knee, screaming the last lines of the song into the microphone. 

_Still holding on  
Still holding on  
Still hoping, still waiting, still breathing by a thread, still holding on_

Lucien dropped the mic stand, and as soon as the sound of it reached his ears, Draco was back. He had flickered between Lucien and Draco for the entire performance, but he didn’t care. With his father, work, the band, with everything being so consuming, Draco was just so tired.  
Giving an exhausted farewell to the audience, Draco left the stage, disappearing quickly before anyone could find him. 

_***_

On Monday, Draco had texted Colby about possible lunch plans when his father called Draco up to his office.  
Skeptically Draco made his way to Malfoy Senior’s office.  
Harry threw him a concerned look as he strode past, so Draco returned it with a reassuring one. Harry didn’t look convinced, but made no move, for which Draco was grateful.  
Upon reaching his father’s office, Draco noted that his father’s gaze was fixed on the city skyline. There was a contemplative look on his face.  
“Draco, despite my reticent personality, you are aware that I love you?”  
Draco stiffened. This was unexpected.  
“I love you, Draco. Children are their parents’ worlds, and you, as my only child, my heir, you are so precious to me.”  
A wine red blush appeared on Draco’s skin, spreading to cover his entire body.  
His dad just told him something he should have said months, if not years ago. Despite Draco’s fantasies about such an occurrence, he was completely floored as of this moment. Admittedly, he wasn’t taking it well.  
“W-w-what’s brought this on father?” Draco stammered, eyes blown out with panic.  
Lucius turned and upon seeing Draco’s expression, gained a soft smile.  
“Don’t look so panicked, Draco. I must confess I have not been very forthcoming with declarations of affection; that was more your mother’s domain. But, please understand, I do love you.”  
Draco only became aware of the tears streaming down his face when his father appeared in front of him, pulling him into his embrace.  
He released a gasp; Lucius had last hugged him the year he turned ten.  
It had been fourteen years.  
Surprisingly there was no awkwardness in the hug which Draco loved, as he clung to his father, sobbing into his expensive suit jacket.  
“ _Papa_ ,” Draco wept brokenly into his father’s shoulder. “I’m sorry if I have ever disappointed you.”  
“Oh Draco. You have never disappointed me - ever.”  
Lucius released the hug, grabbing Draco by the shoulders and giving him a level look.  
“Draco Lucius Malfoy. Everything you have done in your life till now has made me inexplicably proud. I often take for granted how hard you work for me, and juggling your own passions alongside that is no simple feat. I must confess that I was scared as to whether your dream would descend into heartbreak, one that you would be unable to recover from.”  
Draco gazed wide eyed at his father, all hopes of trying to maintain the Malfoy composure shattered. Lucius hadn’t acted like a father to him for the longest time. A part of Draco tried to pass it off as a dream, whispering that this was too good to be true.  
“W-why now, father? What caused this?”  
“It was when you stormed out on Thursday. It caused me to reevaluate some things. I also bought a ticket to one of your band’s performances.  
Draco choked on air. “ _What?_ ”  
Lucius smirked. “I went. I have to say I’m impressed, though the style of music leaves much to be desired.”  
Draco rolled his eyes. Of course. His dad wouldn’t think much of it; he was from nobility after all.  
“Honestly, Draco, if you are a part of the revival of the underground punk scene in England, why not listen to your forefathers? If more ‘modern punk’ bands actually listened to groups like the _Clash_ or the _Sex Pistols_ or even _Black Flag_ , they would learn so much.”  
Draco gaped at his father, whose smile turned into a grin.  
“Draco, do you actually think I knew nothing of the music scene when I was a teenager?”  
“B-but, you, and g-grandfather.”  
“Abraxas was awful. Conservative, to be frank, and I disagreed with him regularly. But, I understood that he was only trying to look out for me in the only way he knew how. My mother died when I was very young, as you know, so I relinquished that part of myself and became the Malfoy I was supposed to.”  
Lucius looked at Draco.  
“But you, my dear son, you are so much like your mother, it’s startling. You may be my heir in appearance, but in every other way, you are your mother.”  
Draco laughed.  
“Mum’d be happy to hear you say that.”  
“I’m sure she would be.”  
Lucius smiled at his son, and with that amused expression, it felt as if a weight came off Draco’s shoulders.  
“Oh, Draco?”  
“Yes, father?”  
The older Malfoy smirked. “At your concert, I met a rather interesting person. They said they worked for Firebolt Records. We had a nice chat.”  
Draco stiffened, and upon seeing his expression, Lucius snorted.  
“You are very talented Draco, and you sing with a lot of emotion. By the way, that is a completely Black trait. Anyway, I was sure that people were incredibly moved by your performance. The Firebolt Records representative was definitely teary-eyed. If I were you, I would expect some sort of communication from them very soon.”  
Draco tried to hide the brilliant smile that was threatening to show by covering his mouth with his hands. It was a dream come true to hear those words, even if the one delivering them was his father. His father whom he now knew supported the pursuit of his passion wholeheartedly. Who loved him. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes again.  
“Now, now Draco, do compose yourself. I did raise you better than that.”  
“Yes, father, I apologise.”  
Lucius rolled his eyes, but a grin graced his face. “You can go back to work now Draco. I’m sure Potter is out of his mind with worry for you.”  
Draco snorted. “Highly unlikely. We’ve only been ‘friends’ for 6 weeks or so. Nothing much has changed.”  
Lucius only arched an eyebrow and hummed in response. “I will see you later Draco. Have a good day.”  
“You too, father, you too.” 

_***_

When Draco returned to his office, he found Harry waiting there, an anxious expression on his face. He instantly recalled his father’s statement about Harry’s probable behaviour, and was slightly unnerved that his father presumed correctly.  
Nevertheless, he decided to ignore that information for now while he asked Potter’s reasoning for being in his bureau.  
“Well, your dad called you up to his office last week, and you returned pensive and snappish, then you went to your dad’s house for dinner on Thursday - I know, ‘cause you’re always a certain way after dinner with your dad, plus Millie was worried and told me - then today you get called up to Mr. Malfoy’s office again! I thought you were being made redundant!”  
Draco tutted, but was inwardly flattered by Harry’s concern.  
“My dear Potter, my father can’t fire me without any viable cause. We were only having a disagreement about something.”  
“Disagreement is an understatement. I’ve never seen you look so emotive, counting Hogwarts days and everything.”  
Draco laughed, and it was completely uninhibited. He supposed Harry realized this, as his anxious expression softened.  
“So, you made up with your dad then?” he queried. “Everything is good now?”  
“Yes,” Draco replied. “Everything is good.”  
And everything was. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs in this chapter:  
> 'Why Would You Care' by Knuckle Puck  
> 'Edward Benz, 27 Times' by La Dispute  
> 'No Shame' by Defeater  
> My Tumblr is helloparkingmeter.tumblr.com, so if you want to message me you can!  
> (I also updated chapter 1 so you can check that out if you want.)


	3. In the Third

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“It seems like you had a great time,” his mum said, snapping him out of his reverie._   
>  _“Oh, sorry mum.”_   
>  _“It’s alright darling,” her smile was soft. “I’m glad you and Draco had fun.”_   
>  _“I’m glad we did too mu-” Harry froze. “I never said I went on a date with Draco!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyyy hahaha hahaha..... guess who's back fam?  
> I'm so sorry that I was gone so long. If it's any excuse, I started university then moved to a different country, then starting at another university.  
> I give complete thanks to my beta, who has been a vision of endless patience and exasperation with me.  
> Also, new readers, hi! I'm surprised you actually stuck around. I'm eternally grateful that you like my stuff.  
> This is a very long chapter, the longest in the entire story actually. I hope you enjoy uwu

Draco could often be found at Colby’s house, a small semi-detached bungalow just outside Central London, due to being his closest friend.

Draco had his head in Colby’s lap, reading the newspaper, with Colby running his fingers through his yet unstraightened hair. Colby found great delight in playing with Draco’s curls and it was no secret that it annoyed Colby when Draco straightened his hair.

“I’m glad you stopped straightening your hair. Why the fuck did you do that anyway?”

“I was young and had a weird father complex which made me want to look like him.”

Colby’s expression became patronising. “Aw, how sweet. You’re one of those kids who say they’re going to be an exact replica of their parent, only to become the complete opposite when they get older.”

Draco scowled. “You’re a prat.”

“I try.”

There was a lull in conversation - Draco returning to his newspaper and Colby becoming increasingly fixated on Draco’s hair.

“Dray.”

“Hmm?”

“Would you ever dye your hair?”

“No.”

Draco sensed Colby’s pout without even looking up.

“ _Dray_ ,” he whined. “Your hair in silver would look amazing.”

“ I wear suits to work in an office.” He said a matter of factly

Colby pouted. “Suits that cost more than my rent.”

“Whatever. If I turned up at work with silver hair, everyone would faint. Harry would probably die of a heart attack.”

Colby snorted. “That’d be amazing. Anyway, when do I get to meet Scarhead? It’s been ages since you two stopped bitch fighting.”

“If you keep calling him Scarhead, then you won’t _ever_ meet him.”

“Ooh, getting all touchy? What changed?”

Draco shrugged. “I don’t know. We got closer?”

Draco and Harry’s friendship had grown from strength to strength - something the whole office noticed. They even made their own inside jokes. After all, Harry had come to work chuckling one morning as Weasley had found out about his friendship with Draco and went on a rampage.

 _“You’d better not run into him on the street,”_ Harry joked, _“Hermione barely forgave him for the shit he said about you, then we became buds, he probably feels that you’re stealing all his friends.”_

Draco rolled his eyes. _“Well then, he needs to keep a better eye on his friends. Shouldn’t just assume that being the ‘first’ friend makes him the ‘only’ friend.”_

Harry had punched him jokingly on the arm but agreed nonetheless.

Colby still seemed put out. “So, when do I get to meet your _new_ _BFF_?”

“Colby, you can have more than one BFF. You’ll get to meet him once he figures out my ‘secret’.”

“You haven’t told him?” Colby seemed surprised.

“Nope,” Draco shook his head and grinned. “He wants to solve it by himself.”

Colby looked contemplative.

“Interesting. By the way, would your dad be okay with you having silver hair?”

“Oh, my _God,_ Colby. I am  _not_ dyeing my hair silver! Do you have silver hair dye or something?”

Colby looked away and mumbled something under his breath, causing Draco to gwauf.

“Oh Lord, you  _do_! Why don’t _you_ dye your hair!?”

“Because I have black hair that needs to be bleached at least twice before the dye shows properly. Your hair, though, is _super_ blonde. No bleaching required.”

Draco glanced at a stray strand of pale hair above his eye and reached up.Tugging gently, he examined it - under the lights, his hair was practically white.

Draco sat up and smirked at Colby’s petulant expression.

“I’ll tell you what Colby. You can dye my hair whatever colour you like. When we’re on tour.”

Colby’s face lit up. “Thanks, Dray. You’re the best.”

The Eurasian male proceeded to tackle Draco into a strong embrace, littering his face with small kisses.

“What’s up Colby? While your affection’s cute, you definitely want something.”

Colby gave Draco a wide-eyed stare, trying to appear innocent. With his delicate features, it would have worked on anyone else, but Draco was too used to his friend's antics for it to have any effect.

“Aw Draco, can’t I show how much I love you without you thinking I want something out of it?”

The blond gave him a blank stare. “Hardly.”

Colby appeared aggravated momentarily, then sighed.

“Since I can’t dye your hair for a while, I thought to myself, ‘ _I should give Dray a haircut’_.”

Draco gaped at his friend, floored as to what he could actually say.

“Dray, say something. I really want to do something with your hair! Anything! Whenever I see you during your lunch break, your hair is like Captain America’s before he became Captain America.”

“Wasn’t it the same afterwards anyway?”

“That’s beside the point!” Colby grabbed Draco’s shoulders, his position above the blond giving him that opportunity.  “ _Please_? Can I cut your hair?”

Draco rolled his eyes, flipping his and Colby’s position, before getting off the couch.

“Goddamnit, Colby! What’s with this ‘let’s give Draco a makeover’ mood today?”

He sighed, running his hands through his hair.

“Alright, you can cut it, but it has to be a style that I can wear to work.”

Colby beamed at him from his position on the couch, before dashing out the lounge to get his styling equipment.

Draco shook his head. He knew Colby loved fashion and turning heads, and would love to become the band’s personal stylist. He fought countless times with Argent over the drummer’s preference of clothing.

While amusing to watch, once on the receiving end of Colby’s attempts to be ‘stylist’, it was an unending trial until you agreed to his whims.

Draco knew that Colby would have kept going, presenting more and more preposterous ideas as the day went on.

He ran his fingers through his hair again. It was getting unacceptably long, covering his ears. At least one good thing came from Colby cutting his hair.

Speaking of the devil, the Eurasian came back into the lounge, dragging a considerably large basket.

Draco eyed it warily. “Um, Colby, what _exactly_ is in this basket?”

“Oh!” his friend grinned. “This is all my styling equipment. I have another basket with hair products as well. This is only the basket of styling apparatus.”

Draco gulped. While he too has an exorbitant amount of products at his disposal at home, he didn’t trust Colby’s own.

“Please don’t make me regret this Colby. I’d rather not deal with people asking me about it at work.”

Colby looked affronted. “ _I’ll have you know_ I've taken a cosmetology and hairdressing course! I am _fully_ capable of doing this!”

“News to me,” Draco smirked at him. “When did you do this?”

“That’s for me to know and for you to worry your pretty little head over while I do your hair. Now, go grab a chair from the kitchen! Now!”

*

Colby had been snipping at the back of his head for a while now, muttering quietly.

“What’s up? Anything wrong?”

Colby shushed him.

“Don’t ask me about your hair, it’s off-putting. Tell me something. Like your improving relationship with Daddy Malfoy.”

“He’d kill you if you said that to his face.”

“That’s why I said it. Now, tell me.”

So Draco told him. It had been several months since the start of Draco and Lucius’ improving relationship. There would be hard at times, and they often disagreed on many things. Draco’s piercings - _“Why do you have 15 piercings Draco? It’s uncouth.”_ Decisions made at work - _“I think it’s hardly fair that you blame me for the mistake in the Human Resources department when you were only made aware of it an hour ago Father.”_ Regardless, they were improving steadily. Spending time together was not limited to the occasional dinner where Lucius berated Draco for supposed flaws in his Malfoy image, but, to restaurant dining, shared lunch breaks, a sporadic shopping trip, or enjoyment of the others company.

Colby listened intently to Draco, a smile gracing his features, as he continued with the haircut. In order to keep Draco talking, he asked the blond for more stories about his acquaintances from work, or friends. Eventually, Draco’s stories  - some which left Colby in stitches - circled back to Harry, and Draco’s own adventures with him.

“You know,” Draco said as he started to regale another tale. “I can never understand how Hermione and Harry are friends with Weasley. It’s not that I hate him, but, he can be so fucking oblivious!”

Colby, still giggling from the last story, asked him to elaborate.

“So, there are these two guys that went to Hogwarts, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan. Gryffindors. Finnegan was a bit of a pyro, and Dean was on Harry’s team as a fielder, but they’re both nice blokes.”

“Well, they’re Harry’s friends. They still hang out, and I believe both of them work for partner firms to Abraxas, but that’s beside the point. The thing is, Finnegan and Thomas have been going out since Hogwarts.”

Colby paused his ministrations to Draco’s hair and placed down whatever tool he was using in Draco’s hair.

“What has this got to do with Weasley’s obliviousness?”

Draco tutted. “I’m getting to that! So, Harry and I are at this pub - ghastly places, pubs, but Harry loves them for some godawful reason, anyway - Thomas and Finnegan were there, and they’d gotten engaged. I thought it was bloody time. They’d been dating for almost 10 years at this point, I expected them to tie the knot much sooner.”

“Anyhow, Weasley was there, and I don’t think he was actually listening because Harry was asking to see the ring Thomas gave Finnegan, and Weasley says: _‘Oh, congratulations Dean! Who’s the lucky girl?’_ and Finnegan just looks at Weasley all affronted, which is understandable, as he just got engaged to the man he’s loved for 10 years and here’s this idiot asking which girl his fiancé proposed to.”

Colby started sniggering, and Draco heard as he picked up another tool and flicked a switch, the sound of shears starting up.

Draco paused. “What are you doing Col?”

“Don’t _worry_ about it, Dray. It’ll be fine.”

“It better.”

Colby waved away Draco’s concern. “Just continue with the story. Please.”

“Alright. So Thomas replies: _‘Are you joking Ron?’_ to which the Weasel replies: _‘No, I’m not. Who is she?’_ , and Harry’s trying not to laugh and I am just so _done_ with this red headed imbecile and Finnegan looks like he wants to douse Weasley in gasoline and set him on fire. And Harry, bless him, turns to Weasley and says: _‘Uh, Ron, Dean is engaged to Seamus.’_ Weasley’s face drains of blood and he’s sputtering, _‘You two are gay? When did this happen?’_ so now Finnegan AND Thomas look ready to murder him.”

It had only been a few minutes since Colby was using the shears, but he had to stop because he was laughing hard. “Oh my God,” kept being mumbled between laughs.

“So I, unable to take it any longer, as while he deserves whatever pain that Thomas and Finnegan want to inflict on him, I felt obliged to tell him how much he has missed in 10 fucking years. I mean, how do you miss that? So, I turn to him and say: _‘Weasley, if your question is ‘When did this happen?’ I believe the answer you’re looking for is 4th year. Even I know and I wasn’t even speaking to any of you.’_ ”

Colby looked as if he would collapse from his amusement. Draco had to put out a hand to steady him.

“Alright?” Colby nodded in reply.

“Fuck, your life’s a drama Draco.”

He smirked. “And it gets better. So Weasley is having a mini panic attack by this point, finding out 2 of his friends swing for the other side, then he turns to Harry and goes: _‘You’re not gay as well, are you, Harry?’_ And, I don’t think we meant it to happen like that, but Thomas, Finnegan and I all snort simultaneously at Weasley’s statement, and Weasley looked so  _horrified_ and Harry is rather sheepish when he looks at Weasley and says: _‘Um, kinda? I’m pansexual Ron.’_ and Weasley, in a pique of frustration, says: _‘Are none of my friends straight?’_ ”

Draco smiled. “And we don’t say anything, because, well, You’re aware of Hermione, plus from what I picked up from Harry and my occasional hangouts with Longbottom, he’s the same as Harry - oh, you don’t know Longbottom, do you? Never mind - and while Weasley’s oldest brother William is married to Fleur Delacour, you know, that French supermodel? - I think they have a child now. Charles Weasley is definitely gay, you would not _believe_ how many clubs I have seen him in. The twins? You know the twins.”

Colby snorted at that. “Who doesn’t know the twins?”

“Well, the twins aren’t straight.” Colby muttered an _‘Obviously’_ at that.

“Weasley’s brother Percy, well, you know the footballer Oliver Wood?”

“That piece of arse?” Colby straightened up. “I knew he was gay and that he was with someone called Percival… wait, that’s _Ron Weasley’s brother_? Oh, this is  _gold_. Do go on.”

Draco grinned.

“Ginerva Weasley is with Luna Lovegood, the writer/editor in chief of Quibbler Magazine. I assume she’s bi; she dated Harry at Hogwarts. Anyway, we don’t say anything, because practically none of his friends and family are straight. It’s actually rather sad if you think about it.”

In the middle of this, Colby had resumed shaving the back of Draco’s head. He could feel the vibrations up the nape of his neck. He did not have a mirror, so he had no idea how he looked.

“I thought you disliked the Weasleys Draco. How do you know so much about their family?”

“During secondary school maybe, “ Draco shrugged. “But I went to uni, and figured out I wasn’t straight, and all gay people are somehow magnetically drawn to each other. So I got to know them in a different context.”

Colby hummed in understanding. “Is your story finished?”

“Nearly? So Weasley is nigh on sobbing at this point, and Finnegan looks disgusted - I suppose he was still pretty miffed about the fact that Weasley, his friend, was ignorant of his relationship of 10 years to Dean - and Harry’s patting Weasley’s back, as if consoling him would fix his blunder. Then he turns to me, and says, accusingly, as if it’s my fault that Hogwarts was an accepting school environment where people could figure out themselves without fear of ostracization and that somehow, I made everyone a ‘flaming homosexual’ with my prolonged presence, _‘Are you gay too Malfoy?’_ ”

“And I’m sure you’re aware that I don’t state my sexuality like that so, I just told him it wasn’t his business and that he should fuck off.”

Colby applauded, a grin stretching across his face. Draco mock bowed.

“That honestly made my day.”

The blonde gave a murmur in response, before glancing around, trying to locate the clock on Colby’s wall. The time read to be four in the afternoon.

“Okay,” Colby started, drawing Draco’s attention back to him. “I’m almost done. I just need to trim the hair on your crown.”

“I dearly hope you haven’t ruined my hair, Colby.”

“Oh, ye of little faith. I would _never_.”

The trimming only took a further 10 minutes, and upon finishing, Colby stepped back to admire his handiwork and grinned.

“Look at you. Such a fine piece of real estate if I do say so myself.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere Colby. Get me a mirror already.”

Colby merely smiled and went to retrieve a mirror. Moments later, the reflective glass was placed in Draco’s hands.

“Tada!” he exclaimed, allowing the blond to appraise his appearance.

Colby had given him an undercut, brushing his curls to fall across his forehead, like an artful fringe. Draco loved it, but Colby shaved off a lot more hair than he expected.

“Wow Colby, you did good.”

“I know right? Now all I have to do is dye it!”

“One question, how is this work appropriate?”

“I took some liberties.”

“Jesus fucking Christ Colby. And we’re not dyeing my hair.”

Colby grinned before starting to clean up whatever mess was caused by Draco’s hair. The blond chipped in to help - it was his hair after all - till they finished and settled down to order takeaway and watch and watch a season or two of Hannibal.

All the while, Draco was trying to figure out how to style his hair for work.

 

***

 

Harry rarely visited Hermione’s penthouse - she usually came to his place or they went out - so every time he went, he saw it as a treat. The doorman was a bit of a tosser, but it didn’t detract from how amazing the apartment was. Very open plan, with floor to ceiling windows along an entire wall.

 _“Hermione,”_ he asked the first time he visited. _“How the fuck do you afford this?”_

But his friend merely smiled and asked him if he wanted tea.

Currently, he sat in one of her many couches, sampling the hummus that she had laid out. They were talking about the ongoing events in their lives. Due to vocational obligations, they were unable to regularly spend time with each other, much to Ron’s chagrin. While Harry still spent time with Ron, even hanging out with Ron and Draco simultaneously, Hermione had yet to see Ron. She had made a promise all those months ago about Harry’s and Ron’s treatment of Draco and since then, and though Harry made an effort to try and make amends, much to his benefit, Ron still found it hard to look past Draco’s actions towards the trio during secondary school. Hence, Hermione refused to talk to him, and Harry gave up long ago trying to convince each party otherwise.

Hermione said she would know if they had kept their part of the unexpected agreement, and she seemed to know about Harry’s friendship with Draco.

Curious, he decided to ask her. “‘Mione, how do you know Draco?”

The brunette gave him a demure smirk before answering his question.

“Oh, we have mutual contacts. Why are you asking?”

“Well, remember when you were like: _‘I will not talk to you until you apologise to Draco?’_ And you kept your promise thus far?”

“Yes.”

Harry shrugged. “Well, it got me thinking about how you knew Draco, cause you wouldn’t be so adamant about us making up with him.”

Hermione nodded, before reaching forward and dipping a baby carrot into the small pot of hummus.

“Well, Draco and I went to the same university, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

Harry was. Draco had complained about how Hermione seemed to haunt his academic pursuits wherever he went. The comment made Harry laugh, and the blond’s responding smirk had given Harry a warm feeling in his chest.

“We shared some classes, and the occasional tutor, though it seemed very suspicious back then.”

Harry leant forward. Sure, he’d heard the passing story about Draco’s university life, but the blond was very tight-lipped about the entire thing, which bemused Harry. Hearing Mione talk about it would help clear up some things that he was curious about. “So, how did you start talking?”

Hermione sighed. “Well, he tried to apologise to me about how he treated me at Hogwarts. I didn’t believe him at first because it was still a sore topic for me. Regardless, he was incredibly civil and made a ridiculous effort not to say anything offensive to me or any other scholarship students that were at our university. He even made up with Neville, which was shocking.”

Harry was surprised by what he was hearing. Sure, after knowing Draco amicably for several weeks, he noticed that there were two sides to Draco, the side that you saw at work, the _‘my father is the head of a multi-billion dollar business empire’_ side, and the side that Harry now saw more of, an open and considerate side, the side that smiled more, that made sarcastic jokes. It was the side Harry preferred and desired to see more of. He had originally thought that Draco’s almost ‘alter ego’ was a recent thing, from when he started at the company, but the confirmation that his _‘entitled rich boy_ ’ act was purely for the company was shocking and saddening.

“What did you do, Mione?”

His friend looked slightly mournful. “I found it so hard to forgive him, despite how I saw him change for the better right in front of me. It took my animosity almost ruining a group project and nearly receiving a failing grade to accept Draco’s sincerity.”

“You almost failed? The fuck, Hermione!”

She looked sheepish. “I must confess it wasn’t my best moment. But Draco just smiled and said it was alright. He looked so relieved that I accepted his apology, like a great weight had lifted off his shoulders.”

Harry weighed up what he had just heard. If he was in the same position, would he have managed to let go of his resentment towards Draco? He thought how he managed to hold on to his dislike for so long, sure that he and the blond could never meet on friendly terms, but here he was, looking forward to spending time with someone he considered a very close friend.

“Mione, you’d consider yourself Draco’s friend right?”

“Well, sure. We spend time together, why?”

“Do you know the whole thing behind the eyebrow piercing?”

Hermione released and exasperated breath. “You’re still on that? Why can’t you just accept that he has an eyebrow piercing?”

“Because it’s more than just an eyebrow piercing! I know it! There are other behaviours of his that hint of something else.”

Hermione looked curious. “Like what Harry?”

“He’s hardly free weekends. When we hang out in town, he has a preference for these indie underground hangouts that you know only people who are actually in the scene attend.”

“I’ve never met any of his friends that didn’t go to Hogwarts. I haven’t even seen Zabini and Parkinson recently. Where are they? Draco was always with them.”

“Oh, Pansy and Blaise? They’re both overseas. Pansy is in Europe somewhere and Blaise is in Italy for work.”

Harry gave her an incredulous look. “You’re friends with those two?”

“Blaise and I are in a similar line of work, and Pansy and I are, _acquainted_ from previous circumstances.”

Harry grinned and gave his brunette friend a knowing look, which Hermione turned away from. “‘Acquainted’? Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Weren’t we discussing your fascination with Draco’s supposed secret?” Hermione folded her arms across her chest.

“We are going to talk about this Hermione.”

“I’d love to see you try. What other things have you noticed?”

Harry pouted. “He’s very particular about his nights. We hardly go out at night. I thought maybe it’s because he dislikes pubs - why does he hate pubs? Makes no sense - but I figured it was something different. So I came to the conclusion that he has an activity that he participates in. Maybe a sport, a recreational activity? But it didn’t link to the eyebrow piercing!”

Hermione seemed amused. “Does it have to link back to the eyebrow piercing?”

Harry threw his hands up, almost relinquishing the slice of cucumber in his hand. “Yes, it does! The eyebrow piercing is the start of it all. It plays a vital role!”

“I think you’re overthinking this, Harry.”

“I think you’re mocking me, Mione.”

She only grinned in response. “I guess I do know what he does. I mean, he does have a social life outside of work Harry. Why wouldn’t he? He’s invited me along to his activities once or twice.”

Harry’s face lit up. He knew she knew something! All he had to do was get her to tell him.

“I’m not telling you anything, Harry. You have to figure it out yourself.”

“But Mione -”

She shook her head. “If you want to figure it out then do so. I’m not going to make this easier for you.”

“Come on Hermione. Just tell me.”

“Nope.”

Harry pouted. “You’re no fun, Hermione.”

“But Draco is. And loud too.”

Harry reddened. “What the hell Hermione? What’s that supposed to mean?”

She just winked at him. “That would be telling Harry.”

*

Harry pestered Hermione relentlessly, but his friend’s patience was greater than his so he eventually had to give up.

“Better luck next time,” she preened at him, patting his back as he left, a long drive ahead of him.

It was Monday, and, for once, he made it work on time. In fact, he was early. Draco, normally already there, was not in his office, nor were his things. His desk was immaculate, everything in its proper place. Despite its presentation of impersonal starkness, the office felt like Draco. Harry regarded the comfortable couch that sat across from Draco’s desk and recalled occasions where he sat on that couch, eating lunch with Draco when they were both too busy to go out.

Stepping out of Draco’s office, he heard the elevator go off, signalling someone entering the floor.

It was Draco.

Harry grinned, about to say good morning to his friend, when he noticed something strange about Draco’s appearance. While the expensive suit was the same, along with the self-assured swagger of someone who knows their own importance, Harry couldn’t entirely figure out what was different.

It wasn’t until Cormac McLaggen made the comment about Draco deciding to wear a throwback hairstyle from Hogwarts that Harry realised.

Draco had slicked his hair back: gone was the standard businessman haircut that Draco normally sported, it was back to the 1920s style that was a regular of 1st through to 3rd year Draco.

Draco greeted him, but all Harry could reply with was: “What happened to your hair?”

Draco paused, and said firmly, “I just wanted a change.”

Harry did not believe this one bit. “A change? What brought on this change then?”

A twitch appeared at the corner of Draco’s eye. “Why do you care so much, Harry? It’s just a hairstyle.”

“A hairstyle you haven’t worn since you were 14. And if I recall, it made you look seedy.”

The blond scowled. “Do you have a problem with it, Harry?”

“Oh no.” Harry shook his head. “I dare say that now you’ve matured, the hairstyle fits you better. Very ‘Great Gatsby’, I must say.”

Draco sighed, but composed himself before saying:

“Harry, we have work. You should be focusing on that instead of trying to find out my reasons for styling my hair this way.”

Harry gave Draco a petulant look, earning him a glare from the blond, but he nonetheless obeyed Draco’s order.

The day progressed, and Harry assumed that due to the hecticness of the day, it probably slipped Draco’s mind how incessant Harry became when he wanted to find out something. His mother had sighed and told him that he shouldn’t try to act on it because it could be unnerving for people. At the time, Remus and Sirius were over, and Sirius, upon hearing Lily’s statement, had said: _‘I believe she means to stop before people peg you as an annoying little shit.’_ His pronouncement was followed by a harsh glare from Harry’s mother and a smack from Remus. Duly cowed, Sirius apologised and gave Harry a giant bar of _Honeydukes Fudge Chocolate_ , which he had saved for a month, before Dudley, his lardass of a cousin, found it and ate all of it.

Harry’s plan to learn Draco’s reasons behind his hairstyle went into play when Draco walked into Harry’s office to collect his signature for some documents.

“Draco.”

“Hmm?”

“Why did you change your hair?”

A hiss of breath was released before the answer; “None of your business” was given, and the blond marched out the office.

*

Lunchtime.

*

“Draco.”

“No, Harry”

After the video call to their American client company.

“ _Please_ Draco.”

“For fuck’s sake, no Harry.”

“ _Jeez_. I didn’t even say anything.”

10 minutes before they left work.

“Dray?”

“ _Oh, my fucking Christ_ Harry! If I invite you to my house this weekend, will you shut up?”

Harry gaped at the fuming blond, thoughts of hair fleeing his head before a grin lit up his face. The thought of visiting Draco’s apartment excited him more than anything.

“Really Dray?”

“ _Christ_. Yes, Harry.” A roll of silver eyes. “I’ve been meaning to invite you over for a while actually.”

At that announcement, Harry’s heart skipped a beat. He supposed that Draco meant to allow him to come over, but they were both busy people and Harry knew Draco was occupied on the weekends. But they were friends. Why was Harry feeling this way over a simple platonic invite? It was completely uncalled for. Truly.

 

***

 

 

Draco knew that Pansy and Blaise had been in town since Sunday, so he called them to arrange a meet up for Wednesday at.

The club was full, which was surprising, as it was a workday in the middle of the week, but the Draco didn’t question it. Pansy had returned from her band’s European tour, hitting lots of big feminist and human rights events. _Gekido_ was Pansy’s life, and to see her get this far made him happy. Blaise was working in Milan, carving up the fashion world as one an upcoming designers of the new millennium. People were in awe of Blaise’s style, and the fact that no one batted an eye at Blaise coming out as androgyne made it even better.

Both of Draco’s friends were sat in a booth away from the crowds, catching up on gossip. Draco hadn’t seen Blaise since last year, and Pansy left on tour several months prior. Sure, Facetime and Skype existed, but talking to friends in person was always more enjoyable.

Presently, they were waiting for their drinks; the bartender was Hogwarts alumni from before Draco had begun his seven-year long stay at that indomitable school. The man had opened up a series of clubs around London, some of which Pansy and Draco had performed at - the one time where they performed on the same night - and on occasion, the man liked to work the bar for old times sake. Years ago, during seventh year and subsequent years, Blaise, Pansy and Draco were regulars at the club.

“So Draco,” began Blaise, who was currently analysing their nails. “A little birdie told me that someone was getting chummy with Hogwarts’ golden boy.” The Italian regarded Draco with cool, kohl-lined eyes.

“Blaise, it’s been six years since we left Hogwarts. He’s no longer the golden boy.”

Blaise sniffed. “Whatever. He’ll always be the golden boy to me. Regardless, do tell about your budding relationship.”

Even Pansy looked intrigued.

“Oh yes, Hermione was telling me about that.” Pansy’s straight black hair fell forward as she leant towards him, eager to learn more.

“You’re talking to Hermione?” This was news to Draco. Sure, both women had become friends due to him, but he was unaware that they communicated more frequently than that.

Pansy stiffened and Draco smirked, reaching his own conclusion.

“Of course we talk Draco. You did introduce us after all.”

He raised an eyebrow before sighing.

“Potter and I work together. After several negative encounters, we realised that our animosity was highly detrimental to the work environment and we decided to be civil with each other. Our camaraderie beyond that was unexpected but not unwarranted.”

Blaise grinned.

“How professional Dray: how long has it been since you and Potter made up? Three, four months?”

“Five, nearly six.” Draco’s pale face was tinged slightly with pink. The Italian raised their eyebrows.

“Half a year? Draco, this is surprising, I _must_ say. Don’t you agree Pansy?”

Her grin was feral. “Oh yes, Blaise, it really is. Tell me Draco, what is Potter like? Or should I say, _Harry_?”

“That is none of your concern Pansy. Maybe we should be discussing you and Hermione instead.”

Pansy shrugged.

“There is nothing to tell. Nothing that is as interesting as you and Potter becoming best mates.”

“Why does this interest you? Who I’m friends with is none of your business.”

“Ah, you are wrong, Draco. It is our concern who you’re friends with,”Blaise stated. “Especially if that person holds a special interest for you.”

Draco scowled. His friends were hardly in the same country as him yet they seemed to know everything.

“Dray, are you sure you’re just going to be friends with Potter? I mean, I’m certainly questioning your choices as it’s Potter, but you’re a big boy now.”

“Thank you for your approval Pansy, but I am sure whatever feelings I have for Harry will have to remain platonic. It’s highly impractical for the work environment.”

Blaise scoffed. “Daphne works with you, and you fucked her. You still manage to work together after the fact.”

“Daphne and I were together briefly before we recognised that we were incompatible. I did not just ‘fuck’ her, as you have so crassly said. How uncouth of you to say.”

Blaise lifted their hands in mock surrender.

“Calm down, Draco, I apologise. But Pansy is right. What are you going to do about Potter? And don’t give me that crap about work ethics. People work together and they still date.”

Pansy placed a hand on their shoulder. “I think he’s not saying anything because he’s unsure of Potter’s feelings for him.”

Blaise’s expression became soft, and Draco was immediately wary.

“You care for that Gryffindor don’t you?”

“I’m ending this discussion. Now.” Draco turned his attention to Pansy, who had a similar expression. What was with his friends and his supposed love life? It was irritating how they got involved. He didn’t even want to get started on Hermione.

Pansy sighed, then stretched.

“Okay, if this conversation is over, then I’m going to excuse myself. There’s this cute girl making eyes at me, and I want in.”

“Go get some Pans!” and a wolf whistle followed her as she walked away, leaving Draco with Blaise. They smiled at him.

“So,” began Blaise, picking up their cocktail and taking a sip. “How have you been? I was going to ask, but your interest in Potter was a more intriguing topic.”

“I thought I said we were going to drop that.”

“Oh, we are. I was just asking how you were.”

“I’m fine thank you. I was trying to enjoy myself, but my friends started pestering me about my perceived interest in a secondary school rival.”

Blaise pouted.

“You know we only mean well. Please don’t be angry with us.”

Draco ran his hands through his hair.

“I’m not angry. Just frustrated. Nothing is actually going to happen anyway. We’re honestly just friends.”

“He’s coming to your house this weekend right?”

“I’m not even going to ask how you know that, but, yes, he is.”

Blaise merely nodded as they took another sip of their cocktail. The Italian’s eyes wandered past Draco, probably to look at Pansy.

Draco turned and saw Pansy grinding on a woman that looked suspiciously like his band’s manager, but Draco didn’t question it. If the pair wanted to tell him, they would tell him.

Draco looked back at Blaise, who was staring at him intently, almost seductively. He surveyed Blaise’s body, long legs and stilettos, bare shoulders and midriff, how their caught up hair made their elegant neck look longer.

Draco knew exactly what Blaise wanted, and he felt no compulsion to deny them.

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it, Draco?”

“It has. My place or yours?”

“Yours. I’m staying with Pansy and I believe she’s planning on bringing someone home.”

Draco nodded.

“Alright. Let me just tell her we’re leaving. You know my car right?”

I’d know your car anywhere, even if you bought a new one yesterday.”

Draco sighed and gave Blaise his keys.

“I’ll meet you at the car.”

Draco left Blaise at the table and went off to locate Pansy on the crowded dance floor. He found her and the girl practically fornicating on the wall.

“Pansy, Blaise and I are leaving.”

His friend only turned her head towards him, the only indication she was listening. The woman she was with was leaving small bites up her neck.

“Alright, Draco. You and Blaise have fun.” Pansy’s voice was thick with lust. It was just as well they didn’t decide on Pansy’s place.

Draco smirked. “Have a nice night. Pansy. Hermione.”

The woman Pansy was with merely flipped him off in response, causing Draco to laugh.

The blonde made his way to his car, still chuckling. He entered his car and Blaise leant over to give him a kiss on the lips, one that promised more.

“Let’s get going, _bello_ ,” they whispered on his lips, and in response, Draco started his car and left the parking lot of the club.

*

Draco stared up at his bedroom ceiling, examining the ceiling designs and coving. Blaise lay beside him, propped up on their elbows as they smoked a cigarette. Draco liked the smell of Blaise’s cigarettes. They weren’t store bought, but expensive custom made ones. Blaise couldn’t stand the thought of inhaling tar and rocket fuel into their lungs, so their cigarettes were pure tobacco and whatever else was used to give them their fragrant aroma. Blaise wouldn’t tell Draco what it was.

His relationship with Blaise was based on years of friendship and mutual attraction that resulted in sporadic nights spent together whenever neither one was in a relationship. Hermione found it slightly distasteful, and Pansy found it tragic, but neither friend said anything.

Truthfully, Draco didn’t know why he and Blaise had sex. Blaise was gorgeous, humorous, and intelligent - everything Draco found addicting. But he knew what he had with Blaise wouldn’t last. Blaise was inherently fickle. Draco was surprised that he held their attention for this long. It seemed as if Blaise realised this as well and released a long sigh.

“What’s the matter?” Draco turned his head towards them.

“You know what I’ve just realised? This is the last time I’ll ever get to have sex with you.”

“Tragic. How did you come to such a conclusion?”

“Because,” Blaise took a drag of their cigarette and exhaled, fluid plumes of smoke leaving their mouth. “Harry Potter is going to be here next time.”

Draco laughed, but the sound was off.

“Why do you say that? And I can’t believe you’re talking about other guys while we’re naked in bed.

Blaise grinned. They gestured to the space between Draco and themselves.

“This is closure, I think. We needed to have one last great shag before we go our separate ways.”

“Are you saying you want to end our friendship?”

Blaise gave Draco a droll look.

“Dear God, no. we’ve been together so long, I don’t know if we can stop being friends.”

Draco smiled. It was true. Draco has been friends with Blaise since they were children, from before the death of Ariadne Zabini’s first husband.

“By the way, how many husbands has your mother had?”

They shrugged, tapping their cigarette on the ashtray resting on Draco’s bedside table.

“I think Jacques is number seven? Or eight. I’m unsure. I just know that my father was the one that lasted the longest.”

“How long do you think this one will last?”

Draco viewed Ariadne’s husbands the same way Blaise did: like shoes. Once Ariadne got bored of them, she threw them away and got a new one. Blaise’s mother was known for her constant changing of husbands. Both Blaise and Draco thought that they should probably consider foul play, but neither could care enough. All her husbands died in drastically different ways and usually when Ariadne wasn’t around, so the police could only label it as a misfortune.

Blaise finished their cigarette and lifted themselves out of bed.

“Where are you going, Blaise?” a question.

“I don’t know. But I want a shower first.”

Draco regarded their tall figure as they sauntered into his en suite, then returned to his observation of his bedroom ceiling.

Minutes later, Blaise returned, smelling of Draco and the fragrance Blaise always wore. They were also dressed to leave.

Blaise leant over and kissed Draco. Something about the gesture was so final that it made Draco’s heartache. He wondered why.

“It’s in September isn’t it?” Blaise whispered, their breath scented faintly with their previous cigarette and toothpaste.

Draco nodded. “It is.”

Blaise straightened and smiled sadly.

“I’ll be back in town around then.”

Draco could only watch as the Italian left.

 

***

 

Harry glanced at the paper in his hand, then at the house in front of him. He was sure that the GPS led him to the right place, but what if he entered the address wrong? What if Draco didn’t even live here?

The neighbourhood was very affluent, one of the more expensive parts of London. Draco had told him that his father bought him this apartment, and Harry was sure Lucius Malfoy wouldn’t settle for any second-rate apartment for his son.

Harry steeled himself as he climbed the steps to the front door and rang the doorbell. Harry was preparing himself for some entitled son of a Duke or some other whacky shit to open the door and ask him what the heck he was doing ringing his doorbell.

It was then the door opened, and who greeted him was not Draco Malfoy.

It was the doppelganger that he saw in the park! The man wore sweatpants and a wife beater, along with a cardigan with rolled sleeves revealing tattoos on both arms, and Harry could see the head of something peering over his shoulder. He had many piercings: snake bites, a septum, stretchers? Plus Harry was sure that was a nipple piercing he saw pressing into the wife beater.

The man has a smirk on his face, looking at Harry as if his shock had made the blond’s morning.

Harry was about to apologise to the attractive man for getting the wrong house when Harry glanced up and saw that just under the beanie covered head was a silver bar through his right eyebrow.

“Draco?!” sputtered Harry.

The blond’s smirk became a sneer, before answering.

“Oh, come inside, Harry, and stop looking like an invalid on my doorstep.”

All Harry could do was mutely follow Draco into the apartment. The ground floor was open, practically one room, with just a wall separating the kitchen from the lounge, it was a good thing too, as smack bang in the middle of the lounge was a baby grand piano. Several guitars were hung on the walls, varying in size and type. A pristine looking drum kit sat in a corner, along with an electric keyboard. A couch was against the wall across from the kitchen.

Draco had turned and was currently grinning at Harry’s awestruck expression. Harry noted how relaxed Draco looked. Maybe it was because they were inside Draco’s domain, or perhaps it was the weekend, Harry was unclear. He just knew that Draco looked incredibly handsome when relaxed.

Harry shook himself from his thoughts, suddenly feeling very awkward about it.

“Wow Draco, nice decorations you have in here. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were being a bit ostentatious.”

Draco’s grin fell from his face and his expression turned cold.

“I can play any instrument in this room, Harry. I assure you this is not for show.”

Harry realised that he had stuck his foot in his mouth with what he said. “I’m sorry. Who taught you?”

Draco looked wistful. “My mother. She taught me pretty much everything I know about music.”

Harry walked around the living room, looking at all the instruments. None were cheap. Harry gasped as he saw a 1965 Fender Stratocaster on the wall. His hands itched with the desire to touch it. He was aware of Draco watching him. He supposed he would do the same thing if Draco came to his house.

“Would you like anything Harry?” came the nervous? question from Draco. Harry tried to figure out why Draco’s voice had that tone.

“Um, do you have any juice?”

“I have Apple and, Cranberry.”

“I’ll have Cranberry please.”

Harry continued to inspect the other instruments in the room as he heard Draco pottering around in his kitchen.

He looked at the drums, and the electronic keyboard briefly, before examining the baby grand.

It was a _Steinway & Sons _ \- one of the most well-regarded makers in the world. The black gleamed, as if freshly polished, and upon pressing the ivory keys, Harry knew the piano had just been tuned.

He sat at the bench and began playing a simple tune on the piano. It had been years since he played.

“I never knew you played the piano.”

Harry started and turned, Draco standing behind him with his glass of cranberry juice and a plate of biscuits. He shrugged.

“Mum plays the piano and I learnt from her, though I stopped when I reached grade 5.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Trust you to quit so close to the end.”

“Well, Sirius offered to teach me the guitar, and 13 year old me was convinced that girls liked guitarists more than pianists.”

“When did you realise that girls liked both?” there was a smile in Draco’s voice.

“Much much later, I think. I was in my final year of Hogwarts. It was then that I realised that I could learn two instruments at the same time.”

Draco let out a surprised laugh.

“How did you not realise?”

“Well, everyone I knew was learning only one instrument, so I thought that was the way it was done. I admit my younger self wasn’t very smart.”

Draco grinned at him, his expression incredulous.

“If we’re being honest, your older self isn’t much smarter.”

Harry shrugged but smiled nonetheless at Draco’s comment. He went to grab the juice and plate of biscuits, then moved to sit on the couch, watching as Draco took his place at the piano.

“What grade did you reach? Since my grade 5 is _so_ disappointing.”

Draco regarded him with a haughty look.

“I completed all the grades, thank you very much.” Harry applauded.

“Impressive. Play something then.”

“I’m not some monkey that plays on demand Potter. What an assumption.”

Regardless, Draco played. Upon hearing the piece, however, Harry had to laugh.”

“ _The Celebrated Chop Waltz_? I asked you to play me something!”

Draco mock glared at him. “And I am,” he sniffed reaching the first set of _glissandos_. “You never stated at what grade it was supposed to be at. Specification is key, my good chap, if you want to get what you want.”

Harry only nodded. He leant back and drank his cranberry juice and ate the biscuits - jam creams, his favourite - and listened as Draco kept playing the piano. After the _Chop Waltz_ , he played the first _Gymnopédie_. Draco played it beautifully slow, his long fingers caressing the keys as he played.

 _His technique is infinitely better than mine_ , was Harry’s first thought as he watched Draco.

 _He looks so at peace_ , was his second. The blond looked so at ease around the piano, yet there was a sadness about him, as if playing that lovely instrument gave him as much pain as it did joy. Harry felt this urge to kiss away Draco’s pain but managed to control himself.

The _Gymnopédie_ finished, and Draco transitioned into a piece that Harry did not recognise. It was just as beautiful as the _Gymnopédie_ , and much longer. It was quite languid, and Harry thought that maybe it was a piece by Mendelssohn. In the middle section modulated quite a bit, before returning to its languid quality.

The piece was coming to a close and Harry wondered if Draco would stop there or continue on.

The blond did, but with a more lively piece that Harry recognised. It was the _Revolutionary Étude_ by Chopin. Harry was fascinated by the way Draco concentrated on the piano, how he gave everything to each piece he played. His mother had told him about the piece when he was still learning the piano, and described to him Chopin’s motivations for it. Harry wondered what it was like, knowing a composer’s intention as Draco seemed to.

The piece reached its end, and when Draco played the last few notes, Harry gave him a standing ovation.

“What was that piece you played before Revolutionary? It sounded kinda like Mendelssohn?”

Draco smiled. “It was Schubert actually. _Impromptu in G-Flat Major_. It took inspiration from Mendelssohn, which is why it sounds like him.” he gave Harry a look of appraisal. “Look at you knowing your composers! I’m impressed.”

Harry got up and attempted to go towards the piano, determined to show Draco how much he knew, regardless of not continuing past grade 5, but the blond waved at him to sit down.

“No no, if we’re showing off musical ability, I want to see you play the guitar. Since you’re so much better at it than at piano.”

Harry sat back down, as Draco went to retrieve a guitar. It was a gorgeous acoustic, and Harry subconsciously reached out to touch it. Draco chuckled at his expression.

“Harry, it’s a guitar, not a person. Stop staring at it like you want to make love to it.”

Harry gave Draco a look. “You care for them like people.”

“That, I am fully aware of. Another reason why I said don’t give it such a look. It’s mine.”

Harry pouted but nonetheless tried to tone down his rapturous expression. Draco handed over the guitar, and in grabbing the fret, Harry’s fingers touched his. He was glad that Draco wasn’t looking at his face as Harry’s cheeks were now tinted red. The blond was already heading back to the piano bench.

Harry gently ran his fingers along the golden brown body of the acoustic, the 6 strings, the fret.

“Why don’t you play something Harry? And I won’t demand that you play something high level.”

Harry glanced up from his examination of the guitar to look at Draco, then back to the guitar, which he righted. He plucked the strings to check the tuning and was pleasantly surprised to see that it was in the tuning he wanted.

“Do you want a pick?” Draco asked, Harry seeing the blond look at him with a curious expression.

“Oh, it’s alright,” he replied, smiling. “I already have one on me.”

“You travel with your picks?”

Harry shrugged. “I always just shove them in my pockets so I usually always have one.”

He actually had two on him at that moment, so he pulled one out and began playing the opening chords of the song.

 

_In a haze, a stormy haze_

_I’ll be ‘round, I’ll be loving you, always._

_Always_

 

Harry observed Draco’s face. The blonde looked surprised that he could sing but didn’t seem to be offended by his voice, which Harry thought was a good thing.

 

_Here I am, and I’ll take my time_

_Here I am, and I’ll wait in line, always_

_Always_

 

The song was short, only 45 seconds, yet Harry heard Draco clapping.

“ _Parachutes_? Really? Sure, it’s a good song, but there are other technically difficult ones by Coldplay.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “I thought you weren’t going to demand something difficult?”

“Oh no no, I was just taking the piss.” Draco shook his head, laughing. “It was great. _You_ were great.”

Harry’s heart stumbled over itself learning a truth it could no longer deny: he was romantically attracted to Draco Malfoy.

The revelation hit Harry hard; it was all he could do not to lose it sitting across from Draco, the way he sat, cross-legged on the piano bench, how his metallic piercings glittered in the sunlight streaming through the windows.

Harry never wanted to run his hands through Draco’s hair more than he did now, and the desire to hold his hand was now very apparent.

Had the urge to kiss Draco ever been so great? Harry didn’t know.

And it was bringing him one step closer to panicking.

 

***

 

Harry liked him. Really liked him. Draco was astounded by that. Harry James Potter liked him! The person he liked actually returned his feelings.

Draco didn’t care that his current thoughts now mirrored a pre-teen’s. He wanted to cheer.

(There was also an underlying thought that Blaise and Pansy were right, and Draco made a promise there and then to never let them know).

He was especially surprised that Harry could sing. It wasn’t amazing, nor was it undiscovered talent. But it was one of those voices that you liked to hear in private, one of those voices that you saw as your special treat. His father’s singing was like that, Draco recalled, remembering family holidays when his father used to dance his mother around the family parlour, singing along to old French records.

Draco cherished those moments of his parents, the sentimental private things that they were. Harry’s voice was like that. It made Draco want to tell Harry to sing just for him, and no one else.

It made Draco even happier that Harry sang _Parachutes_ , one of his favourite Coldplay songs. Despite it being less than a minute, despite its simplicity, he loved it. Harry couldn’t have known how dear that song was to him, yet he sang it anyway.

Draco was smiling broadly at Harry, whose face was red and who seemed so flustered. Suddenly, Harry held out the guitar, not looking at Draco.

“You should play something,” he mumbled, unwilling to look at the blond.

Draco cocked his head curiously. “Okay. But may I ask why?”

“You made me play! With your stupid hopeful expression and silver eyes…”

As the second sentence was muttered much more quietly than the first, Draco assumed that Harry didn’t mean to say that out loud, so he got off the piano bench and reached for the guitar.

He opted to sit on the floor, as while sitting on the piano bench with the guitar was alright, he had a habit of sitting cross-legged on it when he wasn’t playing the piano.

Fiddling with the tuning, Draco leant against the piano bench, the heavy piece of furniture immovable even with his weight. Draco’s pick was in the rim of his beanie, so he grabbed it and began playing.

Pansy had dragged him to see _Angus, Thongs, and Perfect Snogging_ and in that scene near the end when Robbie was about to kiss Georgia, this song started playing. Till that point, the soundtrack was slightly disappointing - granted it was a chick flick, so Draco couldn’t really be surprised - plus Aaron Taylor-Johnson was fit as fuck in that film - but the song, _Toothpaste Kisses_ by The Maccabees was so beautiful that Draco had kicked himself for not discovering them earlier, and definitely not in a movie that a teenage Pansy had forced him to go to.

Draco had kept playing the intro, focusing entirely on his guitar, then started to sing.

 

_Cradle me,_

_I’ll cradle you_

_I’ll win your heart with a woop-a-woo_

_Pulling shapes just for your eyes_

_So with toothpaste kisses and lines_

_I’ll be yours and you’ll be-_

 

A part of Draco was quite embarrassed to sing this in front of Harry; he dared not look up at the male across from him. The ‘Malfoy’ part was hissing that his behaviour was unbecoming, but he ignored it. This moment wasn’t between Malfoy and Potter. This was between Draco and Harry, and it was infinitely better.

 

_Lay with me,_

_I’ll lay with you_

_We’ll do the things, that lovers do_

_With the stars in our eyes_

_And with heart shaped bruises_

_And late night kisses, divine._

 

The rest of the song was purely instrumental, so Draco kept playing. He knew this guitar well, the way it felt in his hand, his body curved around the guitar. He ran the pick across the strings, watching as its vibrations evolved into sound. Everything started to become hazy, except for his guitar.

Draco’s love for music almost surpassed his love for certain people, and when he played or sang, the reason became clear.

Music was everything.

Draco began whistling the tune as he played the closing, and the blond closed his eyes, playing the rest of the song by heart and ear alone.

The song ended, and then there was silence. Confused, Draco placed down his guitar and looked up, only to see Harry kneeling right in front of him.

Draco started, surprised at the close proximity. Harry’s smile was beatific, and it had Draco’s heart pounding frantically.

“Harry,” he whispered, voice hesitant. “What are you-”

Draco’s words were cut off by Harry’s lips touching his. Harry’s warm hands cupping his face. Harry’s body pressed against his.

The shock wore off quickly to be replaced by the feeling of a rising sun inside of him. Ecstatic, Draco kissed back. The kiss was gentle and sweet, with thoughts of longing and hopeful beginnings behind it.

Harry pulled away and pressed his forehead against Draco’s.

“That was beautiful Draco,” he said softly, his thumb rubbing against Draco’s cheek. “You’re beautiful.”

Draco reddened, and looked at his hands; looking at Harry would steal all his composure and he was already having a hard time keeping his control.

He heard Harry chuckle softly before taking both of Draco’s hands in his.

“Tell me about your tattoos Draco. Are the ones on your arms the only ones you have?”

Draco shook his head. “I have several, but you’re only allowed to see these two at this moment.”

Harry grinned. “This is the Slytherin snake, isn’t it? And you said that you were beyond house pride.”

Draco gave Harry a warning look. “This has nothing to do with house pride. It’s more the symbolism of it than anything else. Intelligence, cunning, ambition.”

Harry nodded and let go of Draco’s left hand and started tracing the letters of the poem on his right.

“This is German isn’t it?”

Draco nodded. “It’s part of Rilke’s Fifth Elegy.”

“Will you tell me what it means?”

Draco put on an air of nonchalance. “Maybe one day I’ll tell you.”

The smile on Harry’s face widened until he started laughing again, before pulling Draco into another kiss, much deeper than the last.

Pulling Harry close to him, and entangling his fingers into his hair, Draco vaguely remembered his apprehension towards Harry coming to his house, since it was the first time any of them went to the other’s house.

But now, with Harry wrapped around him, Draco was not at all regretting his decision to let Harry come over.

 

***

 

It had been two weeks since he found out his feelings for Draco were returned. Two weeks since he went to Draco’s house and played the guitar for him; two weeks since Draco had done the same.

Two weeks since he first felt Draco’s soft lips on his, since he’d seen his tattoos.

Harry was a very happy man.

At work, they behaved professionally, but their floor knew their bosses too well - for a week sly winks, whistles, and the occasional congratulations were sent in their direction.

The second week began with a flurry texts from friends and well-wishers. Harry didn’t know how, as he literally told no one, but he got texts from Hermione, Neville, Dean and Seamus, as well as others telling him congratulations. The twins, along with Sirius, sent him a message saying how they always knew that this day would come, with the twins adding that they always suspected that Harry’s and Draco’s fighting was just unresolved sexual tension that could now be resolved.

Draco has received similar texts from his friends as well, and the blond’s annoyance was palpable because of it, much to Harry’s amusement.

Then came the ‘threatening’ texts from ‘well meaning’ friends from the other side. While Draco got more ‘hurt my friend and I’ll kick your ass’ texts than Harry did, the threats that Harry did receive were more intense. He received texts from Parkinson and Zabini, who stated that their mother was known as the _Black Widow_ for a reason and several from unknown numbers.

When Draco saw those texts, he growled and promptly began calling people and tearing them a new one. It was incredibly sexy to see Draco all riled up like that, and Harry kicked himself for not seeing it sooner.

It was Sunday, and Harry was at his parents’ house for dinner. He sat at the kitchen table, regaling his mother with stories from work and outside of it, and she nodded and smiled as she made dinner.

“So, how was your date last week, Harry?”

Harry thought back to his and Draco’s date the Saturday, and his expression became nostalgic at the memory. They had gone to this posh restaurant that Draco somehow got a reservation for, and they had the best times, despite the austere feel of the place. Harry didn’t feel out of place with his lack of knowledge on advanced table etiquette, as Draco’s whisper of _“Watch me”_ , allowed Harry to calm himself.

Their conversation wasn’t awkward at all; they talked about anything that came to mind. No one bothered them about their status as a same-sex couple, which surprised Harry, but then Draco silently pointed out several other couples like themselves, enjoying their meal.

“It seems like you had a great time,” his mum said, snapping him out of his reverie.

“Oh, sorry mum.”

“It’s alright darling,” her smile was soft. “I’m glad you and Draco had fun.”

“I’m glad we did too mu-” Harry froze. “I never said I went on a date with Draco!”

His mother only gave him a look.

“I mean, yes, it _was_ Draco, but how did you know?”

His mum checked a pot on the stove, before answering him.

“Well, when you had your date, Percy and Oliver were having their date night, celebrating - Percy got a promotion and Oliver’s secured a place on the English national team.”

“That’s amazing mum!”

“I know, sweetie. Anyway, they saw you at the restaurant. Percy has a bit of a shock you see, and FaceTimed the twins, who were a bit peeved at first, but then Percy showed them Draco and you. The twins took a screenshot, and forwarded it to your friendship group.”

Harry leant back in his chair, dazed. He didn’t even think about people seeing them out together, as he never thought that people actually gave a shit. Apparently, he was wrong.

“I believe Hermione found out before that, but she hadn’t told anyone when I asked her.”

“How did Sirius find out?”

“He was with Charlie Weasley when they got the picture. Charlie forwarded it to Sirius, who then told Remus. They both came here to tell your father and I.”

Harry was horrified. “I’m sorry you found out through Sirius instead of me. I was going to tell you, mum.”

“Oh hush,” Mum tutted. “You only just began your relationship. Of course, you’d want to figure out the dynamics of it before you told anyone. Alas, you and Draco are a pair that is bound to attract attention and you’re both  part of friend groups that _are_ quite nosy.”  
Harry let out a breath. At that moment as he was silently cursing all his friends, his dad came into the kitchen. He smiled at Harry before ruffling his hair.

“How are you son? And congratulations on your new relationship with Malfoy.”

Harry was put out but accepted his dad’s well wishes. Dad then gave him a serious look.

“Now Harry, I want you to understand. This is a boy you’re going out with and not a girl. Boys are different, especially in the bedroom department.”

“Oh Lord,” Harry couldn’t believe that his dad was doing this, and now of all times! He just turned 25! He was already old enough. He had seen enough.

“Dad, please. I don’t need the talk. I’m a grown man.”

James Potter only gave his son a woeful look in response. “But son, my only child. I want you to be safe.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I know dad.”

“And remember to always use protection. I know it’s unlikely for a pregnancy to occur-”

“Unlikely!?”

“James, please stop teasing Harry,” Mum said, her voice light, but stern.

“It’s alright Lily. He’s only dating Draco, not Lucius, his dick of a father.”

“James, do be nice. Lucius Malfoy isn’t all that bad. Abraxas Malfoy was a terrible man. He’s really the cause of many things.”

“That didn’t mean he had to be a massive git.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “You and Mr. Malfoy sound like Draco and I.”

Mum chuckled.

“Your father wished. Lucius Malfoy was older than us by 2 years or so, but he was incredibly aloof, though I believe that to be the Malfoy facade. I’m sure you know of it, Harry.

Harry nodded. Draco had one, it was almost like a defence mechanism.

“Unfortunately, your father was obstinate and refused to see the mask for what it was. Hence, this one-sided rivalry that your father had with Lucius Malfoy.”

Dad was rather sheepish. “Lucius Malfoy was top of the school. He thought he was better than everyone.”

Mum giggled. “I secretly suspected that your father had a crush on Lucius.”

Harry laughed outright at Dad’s incredulous expression.

“What! I did- I mean- that is completely untrue.”

“I’m sure, Dad. I mean, I see the attraction. The man is pretty fit, and the whole aloof personality is pretty charming.”

“I refuse to listen to such libel.” Harry and Mum burst out laughing at Dad’s bright red face.

“Anyways Harry dear, let’s stop teasing your father. It’s not very nice.”

“Yeah, it isn’t. By the way, Harry, have you told Ron that you’re dating Draco?”

Harry froze. No, he hadn’t told his best friend about his new relationship. To be fair, Harry hadn’t told anyone at all, but everyone found out anyway, so Harry just assumed that Ron had found out. But then Harry remembered how oblivious his friend was to any non-heterosexual relationship. Case in point: Dean and Seamus’ engagement - Seamus was still miffed about the entire thing, to the point where it was unlikely that Ron would receive an invitation.

And, Ron was especially volatile when it came to Draco. Despite what Hermione said last year - had it actually been that long? - Ron has still not forgiven Draco or willingly decided to put aside his issues with the blond. Ron would view his relationship with Draco as a direct betrayal. A voice in Harry’s head that sounded a lot like Draco berated him saying that his friendship with Ron should have no bearing on his relationship with Draco, and if Ron had an unjustified problem with Draco, then Ron was a terrible friend.

Harry supposed the voice was right.

“No, I haven’t dad. Ron’s a bit iffy with these of things.”

Dad gave him a blank look. “Weren’t you the one that told me that Ron didn’t realise that Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan were together until they announced that they were engaged?”

“... Yes.”

Mum looked concerned. “You really should tell him, Harry. I’m sure you know how he would get if he found out, long after everyone else.”

“A bit too late for that,” muttered his Dad. Lily, however, heard and smacked him across the head for his cheek.

“As I was saying Harry, you should tell him. Before he believes you can’t trust him anymore.”

Harry sighed. He guessed his mum was right.

“All right!” his mum clapped her hands. “Sit down please, I’m about to serve dinner.”

Both the Potter men grinned, and took their places around the table, eagerly awaiting the food Lily Potter had prepared.

 

***

 

When Draco woke up in his childhood bedroom, a feeling of overwhelming sadness hit him. It was as bad as it had been in previous years, but the all-consuming pain was still there, as was the depression. Draco didn’t think he would ever get over it.

Putting on sweatpants and a t-shirt, Draco padded out of his bedroom. There, Dobson greeted him with a much-needed hug and informed him that his father was in the gardens and that he had no plans to leave there for the rest of the day.

Draco thanked the servant and asked if his breakfast could be brought out to the gardens as well, to which Dobson replied:

“Of course Master Draco. Today is an important day for both you and your father. Let us take care of you both today.”

It was easy to locate his father in the garden. There was a seating area set up in the middle of several hydrangea bushes. The sun was shining, as it had been raining quite a bit recently.

Lucius spotted him.

“Good morning Draco.”

“Good morning father.” Draco appraised his father’s arrangements. The large bench was laden with cushions and blankets, and the huge parasol was opened.

“You know Draco, the hydrangeas’ colour depends on the soil you plant them in. there are so many plants all around this garden.”

Draco nodded. The Malfoy Manor Gardens stretched across several acres: everyone covered in several hydrangea bushes.

“Yet these ones,” Lucius continued, gesturing to the hydrangea made enclosure. “They each have a different colour, even though the soil is the same. I never knew how she did it.”

It was then a servant brought out Draco’s breakfast: toast, scrambled eggs, and orange juice. His father raised an eyebrow at Draco’s meal.

“I’ll eat more later Papa. Don’t worry.”

“You better. I’d rather not have a repeat of two years ago.”

Neither did Draco.

The two men sat in companionable silence, though the air was tinged with melancholy.

Draco regarded the garden that was his mother’s handiwork, her pride and joy. Although the servants still follow the rules she created for the care of her garden, it wasn’t the same.

Nothing would ever be the same without her. But she wasn’t coming back.

Three years prior, Narcissa Black-Malfoy collapsed in her garden, where a servant found her and tried to resuscitate her before calling an ambulance. Despite medical professionals best efforts, they were unable to revive her, and on September 15th, at 22:48, Narcissa Black-Malfoy passed away, leaving behind a husband and son.

The doctors were stunned as to what cause her death. It wasn’t a stroke, nor her heart or any other organ failure. She just simply collapsed and never woke up again.

Draco was in the middle of a lecture when his father called. He had immediately known something was wrong. Draco had never heard his dad on the edge of a breakdown before.

It didn’t matter if he was in class. He just walked out, ignoring the annoyed calls of his lecturer behind him.

He remembered seeing his father in the hospital waiting room, staring blankly at the linoleum floor. He remembered sitting in one of those uncomfortable hospital chairs, picking at a scab he had until it bled. It eventually left a scar.

He remembered his father calling his Aunt Andromeda and his cousin Sirius who Draco didn’t see much, but he knew his mother stayed in frequent contact with. He remembered Sirius storming into the waiting room, ready to tear into Lucius, but stopping upon seeing the look on his father’s face.

He remembered Aunt Andromeda going to get everyone tea and food as they waited anxiously for news from the doctor.

And he remembered, at 22:49 on that terrible day, when the doctor came out and told them that his mother had died only seconds prior.

Draco ate his scrambled eggs and leant back on the bench, a blanket thrown over his legs. To his right, his father reclined, reading a book. He turned towards Lucius.

“Papa?”

“Yes, Draco?”

“How did you and mother meet?”

The smile on Lucius’ face was nostalgic.

“We both went to Hogwarts, though my father was quite tempted to send me to Durmstrang. That school is horrific, let me tell you.”

Draco’s father told him the story of how he met Narcissa. She was 2 years younger than him and in Ravenclaw. Lucius knew of her but didn’t really know her.

“Of course I knew her,” his father sniffed. “She was from the _Ancient and Most Noble House of Black_. Abraxas made sure I knew of all the ‘relevant’ children attending Hogwarts from the aristocracy and nobility at the same time as me.”

When the issue of arranged marriage came up, his father was more than annoyed. “I viewed it as an archaic practice.” Draco gave him an incredulous look. “What? Draco, regardless of what you may believe about me, no teenager wants to be married off to someone they barely know.”

Their first meeting was very public, loud, and scarily violent.

“She stormed across the Great Hall to the Slytherin table, and grabbed me by my blazer.”

Draco laughed at the image and Lucius grinned.

“Laugh all you want, Draco, but it was frightening. I was just eating dinner, listening to Lucan complain about how he got in trouble with McGonagall, _again_ , when out of nowhere this freakishly strong 15-year-old is holding me up in the air and telling me that I would regret the day I agreed to sign a marriage contract which made her my betrothed.”

Draco was trying not to laugh at the description of his mother, all anger and strength and determination. It was only funny because she scared the crap out of Lucius.

“She then told me that she refused to be forced into a loveless marriage and demanded that I _woo_ her.”

“Dear God, father. How did Uncle Lucan react?”

“Lucan was predictably amused. I believe he wished for his video camera in that moment. For one, I’m glad that he recorded nothing.”

“Did you actually woo her papa?”

The answering shrug was graceless.

“The concept of romance made no sense to me, so it was understandably hard to actually do it. There was a lot of trial and error.”

Lucius was normally someone that could do something right the first time round, so having to try repeatedly to get something right must have been a blow to his reputation.

“It didn’t help that she thought I was a playboy, which I thought was highly unfair. Apart from your mother, I dated no one. That scene was completely dominated by your Uncle Lucan.”

“Was he a ladies man?”

“Your uncle was  _everyone’s_ man. Now, I have no problem with people liking the same gender, but Lucan was _ridiculous_. I was surprised that he didn’t get anyone pregnant.”

Lucius had to convince Narcissa that he wasn’t who she thought he was, and it took many arguments and Narcissa actually bumping into Lucius and his identical younger brother when they were together to convince her otherwise.

“I don’t know how anyone mistook Lucan for me or vice versa. You’ve seen Lucan, Draco. Surely you see we don’t look identical.”

Draco shrugged. “Well, I’m biased due to both of you being family, but I do see where everyone else is coming from. You and Lucan do look very similar beyond standard familial resemblance, but I don’t believe that you can mistake one for the other. Unless you looked more identical when you were teenagers.”

“Regardless,” Lucius huffed, jokingly annoyed that Draco didn’t agree with him outright. “Let’s just continue with the story. I failed in trying to woo your mother, which I expected, as there needs to be mutual attraction for that to work, but we did become good friends.”

“So you got married after mum graduated?”

“The year after, yes. Neither of our parents wanted us to go off to university and be ‘loose’ as they called it before we got married.”

Being married during university wasn’t a problem; he was uninterested in dating and Narcissa just wanted to study. After completing their degrees, they tried for a child and eventually had Draco.

“While incredibly cute, that was less romantic than I imagined. For shame papa.” the entire sentence was in jest.

“Yes, well, while I loved your mother, I wasn’t _in_ love with her. We just were very close friends.”

Draco nodded in understanding.

“Your mother was a complete romantic, though. I got dragged to see _Titanic_ twice when it first came out: she loved it, bought it on VCR, then DVD when VCRs became outdated.”

“The Titanic was mother’s favourite film?”

“Not her favourite, but she loved it that film. I think it was because of Leonardo DiCaprio.”

Draco snorted.

“She loved any music based film more, though.”

“Like musicals?”

It was his father’s turn to snort. “Christ no. She hated musicals. The ones she loved had musicians as main characters or films with a great musical score. A lot of the DVDs she had were BBC’s _Live at the Proms_.”

“Didn’t we go for her birthday?”

“Yes.” Lucius smiled fondly at the memory. “You were around 8, I believe, and you kept complaining that you were bored. You were so petulant for half the evening, then Celestina Warbeck, the soprano, started singing, and you stopped. Cissa was thrilled, but I was slightly concerned that I was going to get a son that wanted to be an operatic singer. Not that I minded at the time, but, opera is not my favourite thing in the world.”

Draco stared at his father. He never really understood Lucius’ dislike for operatic music. “What’s wrong with opera?”

“Abraxas loved it. He was a Wagnerite especially. I’ve heard _Tristan and Isolde_ played so many times, Dear Lord. At age 10, I thought Isolde’s closing number was terrifying.

Draco laughed. Personally, while he strongly preferred the Italian operas, he didn’t have the same hatred for Wagner as his father did.

His mother was a fan of the opera and regularly went. Last year, on her birthday, he went to see the performance of one of her favourite operas, _Die Zauberflöte_ by Mozart.

Maybe he could convince his father to go to the opera with him at a later date.

“Anyway,” Lucius said, redirecting the conversation to their original topic. “Your mother and I thought that it was Warbeck’s singing that captivated you, but it wasn’t. It was the piano.”

“The piano?”

Lucius nodded. “You had been taking piano lessons for a year by then, but you weren’t very interested. I think your mother was about to give up on piano with you, she was so disappointed.”

Draco tried to remember if he had ever hated playing an instrument, but his mind kept drawing a blank.

“Are you sure papa? I don’t remember hating the piano.”

His father chuckled. “Oh, you despised it. Called it a girl’s instrument. I definitely remember one occasion where your mother tried to tell you about famous male pianists and composers like Chopin and Rachmaninoff, and you turned to her and shouted: _“And where did they end up? Dead! Nothing good comes from male pianists.”_

Draco hid his face, horrified. Child him sounded so facetious!

“Fret not Draco. The pianist at the Proms that night was male, and he played astoundingly well.” Lucius appeared thoughtful. “I remember you wanted to meet him after he finished accompanied the soprano, immediately after, may I add. You refused to settle down.”

Draco shoved his face in one of the bench cushions. Why didn’t he remember this?

His father laughed and ruffled his hair. “Weirdly, the pianist had a solo afterwards. He played Liszt’s _Sonata in B Minor_.”

“The thirty-minute sonata?” Draco’s eyes bulged.

“Yes.” Lucius seemed fond of the memory. “I have seen that sonata played many times, and that pianist was one the best I have seen, second only to your mother.”

Draco had once heard his mother play that sonata when he was 11. He sat at her feet as she played, and after she was finished, she wept.

When he asked what was wrong, she told him: “ _The piece is about emotion, my darling Draco. That is what you have to play it with. Skill as a pianist is key, but, if you can make your audience_ feel _, then you have done your job._ ”

Draco didn’t understand what she meant until the first time he played the piece himself, a year after she died.

He didn’t touch his _Steinway_ for weeks afterwards.

“Sure,” his father continued. “I am biased towards Narcissa, but the man was a genius. You were captivated. That was when you became obsessed with the piano. You started learning other instruments, as well as training your voice, but the piano was your first love.”

Draco smiled. “It still is. That was one of the gifts she left me.” Draco shifted closer to his father, who pulled him into his arms.

The father and son spent the day like that, in Narcissa’s garden, and feeding the occasional peacock that walked by.

“Why do we have peacocks anyway?”

Lucius closed his eyes and sighed. “My one moment of exorbitance.”

Nothing more was said on the matter.

They shared stories about Narcissa, from her first recital - _“She threw up twice - once before and once after.”_ \- her visiting Hogwarts when Draco broke his collarbone - _“She refused to leave Papa, and she almost got into a fistfight with Mrs. Pomfrey!”_ \- and even her last days - _“She seemed very certain of something happening, and she told me that everything would be fine,” Lucius whispered, eyes damp. “But everything was not fine, especially since my Cissa died two days after she said that. How would anything be fine?”_

Draco had seen his father cry twice before now, and both times Lucius was unaware that Draco had seen him. The first was when his grandfather had died. At first, his father seemed very nonchalant about it, but then his mother had taken his father’s hands in hers and whispered: “You don’t have to hold it in anymore Luce.” and his father’s facade cracked.

The second time was when his mother died, the night of her funeral. His father had sat in the family room and stared at the commissioned portrait of his mother, silent tears cascading down his face.

Now, Lucius wept softly, finally crying tears he should have wept years ago. Draco gripped his father’s hand, and his heart broke alongside his father’s. Why did his mother have to die?

Draco stared at the lines of German on his right arm, whispering the words under his breath. Lucius turned to look at his arm, eyes slightly puffy. He reached out a hand to caress Draco’s tattoos.

“Rainer Maria Rilke’s _5th Duino Elegy_. And in the original German as well. Your mother’s favourite.”

Draco inclined his head. “I got it the Christmas after she… passed. My headspace was really negative, and I needed something positive to focus on.”

“Was that when you took the jet to Berlin?” Lucius gave him a condescending look.

“Draco sniffed. “While I trust my artist, I didn’t think that they would write the German properly, so I just went to the country itself. No harm in that.”

Lucius stared at him, and Draco knew what was left unspoken - how he went AWOL for two months, crashing at one of the Malfoy properties in Berlin, locking himself away from everyone, with only a handful of servants who just tidied his room when he managed to leave it, and prepare him food, which he barely ate.

When Draco returned to England, he was almost three stones lighter than when he left, and it was a miracle he didn’t fail that semester of university.

Lucius stared intently at his tattoo, slowly reading the words, memorising the image of it into his mind.

“Draco, let me tell you why this is your mother’s favourite poem.”

Draco faced his father, curious.

“Your mother studied German at school. She especially loved German literature. On our first wedding anniversary, I recited the _5th Elegy_ to her.

“My German was awful. I studied French and Italian instead, so German was a loss for me. But, I wanted to surprise your mother.”

Draco snorted. He was fully aware of his father’s mediocre prowess in German. He wasn’t bad, but, well, one got the idea.

“I stuttered like a fool, and made a mess of parts of it, but your mother adored it. Said no one had ever learnt a language just to surprise her. She then lectured me on pronunciation.”

Both the Malfoy men laughed, reminiscing over their lost loved one.

“Draco?”

“Yes, Papa?” Draco kept looking at his tattoo, the words forever in his subconscious.

“Can you recite the poem for me?”

Draco took a deep breath. “ _Engel!: Es wäre ein Platz,_

_den wir nicht wissen, und dorten,_

_auf unsäglichem Teppich, zeigten die Liebenden, die’s hier_

_bis zum Können nie bringen, ihre kühnen_

_hohen Figuren des Herzschwungs,_

_ihre Türme aus Lust, ihre_

_längst, wo Boden nie war, nur an einander_

_lehnenden Leitern, bebend, — und könntens,_

_vor den Zuschauern rings, unzähligen lautlosen Toten:_

_Würfen die dann ihre letzten, immer ersparten,_

_immer verborgenen, die wir nicht kennen, ewig_

_gültigen Münzen des Glücks vor das endlich_

_wahrhaft lächelnde Paar auf gestilltem_

_Teppich?_ ”

By the end, Draco and Lucius were once again both teary-eyed.

“Papa?” Draco began, wiping his eyes. “Would you come to my performance today?”

Lucius wrapped his arms around Draco and smiled. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

**

 

“Daddy Malfoy, I have to say, if I wasn’t so close to your adult son, I’d believe that you were in university.”

Draco buried his head in his father’s lap. “Colby, what did I say about calling my father that?”

Colby looked peeved. “Just because _you’re_ polite with your father doesn’t mean I have to be.”

Lucius laughed as he carded his fingers through Draco’s hair. It still had the undercut that Colby had given him nearly two months ago. He had Colby trim it up - it looked as good as new.

“No worries, Mr. Kerrington. I appreciate your compliment.”

Draco and his father were backstage in the room that the venue had given them to prepare. Everyone knew that today was for Draco, and while they were surprised at the elder Malfoy’s appearance, no one commented on it, as they knew that Lucius was keeping Draco from breaking down.

Hermione had fussed over him like a mother hen, which normally Draco would find mildly annoying, but today he accepted it wholeheartedly. The curly haired woman had just given him a cup of tea when her phone rang.

“It’s Harry!”

Draco’s face became red and he let out a small moan. Due to everyone being quiet, they could hear Harry without the use of speaker phone.

_“Mione? Are you with Draco?”_

“Why are you asking Harry? Is something wrong?” Hermione sounded concerned.

_“Well, I’m not getting through to Draco’s phone. I know today is very important for him, but he only mentioned it briefly months ago? So I can’t exactly remember what it is, and fuck if I’m going to be a bad boyfriend and not be there for him!”_

Lucius sniggered. “Draco, why didn’t you tell me that Mr. Potter finally made his move? And succeeded? _For shame_ , Draco.”

A strangled noise came from the back of Draco’s throat, causing Colby and Argent to snort.

“Please Papa, stop talking. This is way too embarrassing.”

Hermione, trying to calm Harry down, was unable to stop Harry from hearing the exchange, no matter how muted it was.”

_“Wait, Hermione, is that my boss and my boyfriend I hear? What are you doing with them?”_

Even Rhys had to look away to stop from laughing as Hermione frantically tried to convince Harry that no, she was not with any of the Malfoy men, don’t be ridiculous.

Draco’s face resembled a stoplight. “Can the earth just open up and swallow me whole? I can never show my face at work again.”

Colby patted Draco’s back. “There, there Dray. the mortification will disappear in a few years or so.”

Lucius snorted while Draco glared at Colby.

“Draco? Mr. Malfoy?” Hermione’s voice was tentative.

“Yes, Mione?”

“Yes, Miss Granger?”

She sighed. “We need to be onstage in less than 5 minutes.”

Lucius paused his ministrations on his son’s hair, and Draco became silent before extricating himself from his father’s lap.

“Alright then,” Draco straightened his clothes and fixed his hair, which Colby promptly ruffled again.

“What was that for?”

Colby shrugged. “You look softer with your hair like that.”

Draco muttered obscenities under his breath, yet did nothing to change his hair.

“Any last words Hermione?” Xavier tossed a pick up in the air, a pre-performance habit of his.

“No, not really.” Hermione shook her head. “I’ll be backstage with Mr. Malfoy. So just go out there and play your best, alright?”

The five band members nodded, before heading out the green room. Draco was the last one out the door, but Lucius called him back.

“Draco,” his father smiled, holding Draco’s face between his hands. “Your mother would be so proud of you.”

He blushed. “Thank you, Papa.”

“Go out there and sing for her.” Lucius kissed his forehead then let go, allowing Draco to leave.

As Draco stood on the stage, he refrained from making the transition to Lucien. He would sing as Draco tonight. This night belonged to his mother and no one else.

“Hey, everyone,” Draco spoke without preamble. “We’re _From Me to You_.”

Draco could see that the audience noticed how subdued he was, but they still cheered with the same fervour, as with every performance.

“We’re starting with ‘ _Oak Street_ ’. I hope you guys have fun.”

Draco nodded to Argent, who started the beat.

 

_Should I let the words flow_

_From my mouth right down your street_

_While you’re still home,_

_I hope you’ll hear me_

_Cause if I feel this low again I’ll scrape the deep end_

_But maybe then I’ll stop pretending_

_Yeah, maybe then I’ll stop pretending_

 

Draco sang softly into the microphone, the tempo of the song gentler than what the band usually did. However, he didn’t care about how the audience felt about the song. Every song he sang tonight was for Narcissa, his mother. He had never sung for her since she had died.

 

_That things just felt so cancerous for a while_

_I’m in the in-between_

_Like New Buffalo & Oak Street _

_I hope the thought of me keeps you away from the beach_

_Cause don’t care if you can’t sleep_

_No, I don’t care if you can’t sleep_

 

_Don’t think I care if you can’t sleep_

 

In the days following her death, Draco didn’t sleep. He couldn’t look at anything that was his mother’s, anything that he could link back to her. He was seemingly haunted by her, his every waking thought filled with his mother.

It nearly drove him insane.

 

_Stay away from the lake_

_Cause if you see me I’ll be skipping memories I swore I’d keep with me_

_In constant hopes that they’ll erode just like the glass we’d take home_

_Left to rot in a window well_

_They're left to rot in your window well_

 

_Some things just felt so cancerous for a while_

_I’m in the in-between_

_Like New Buffalo & Oak Street _

_I hope the thought of me keeps you away from the beach_

_Cause I don’t care if you can’t sleep_

_No, I don’t care if you can’t sleep_

 

It came to a point, a month or so after Narcissa Malfoy’s death, that Draco hated her. He despised her with everything within him. He hated her because she died. He hated her because she was such an important part of his life, and how her passing seemed to yank the world from underneath him.

He especially hated her for leaving without ever saying goodbye.

That to Draco was the worst sin.

 

_When I close my eyes_

_I feel your summer skin_

_It pulls me apart and rips me open_

 

But, but. He remembered summer holidays spent helping her tend the garden, how he always got sunburnt despite sunscreen (though he often forgot to put on more), how she made him salad from the things she grew in her garden.

 

_When I close my eyes_

_I feel the warmth of the sun_

_It takes me back where I was where my youth was stolen_

 

Draco closed his eyes and reminisced about growing up with his mother, all their days spent exploring and adventuring when he was a child, moments of advice while he was a teenager, her silent encouragement when he became an adult.

The moment when he lost her forever.

Draco opened his eyes and gazed into the crowd, and a melancholy feeling fell over him.

His mother’s death was hitting him harder than ever before.

*

Xavier strummed at his guitar while Draco kept a firm grip on the microphone in his right hand.

When he was finally able to think about the situation without breaking down, Draco had written a song about the day when his mother was buried. _Sunday Morning, At a Funeral,_ was alternatively Lucius’ and Draco’s story.

 

_Sunday Morning still_

_laid innocent in sheets,_

_barely half asleep._

_Sunday Morning I was dreaming I was turning from a busy street_

_into a parking lot._

 

On the day Draco’s mother was buried, he did not get out of bed. He was still being haunted by the memory of his mother and was in no fit state to get out of the bed, let alone go to a funeral.

 

_Sunday Morning broke_

_and dragged me out of bed,_

_slightly less asleep._

_Sunday Morning I was warming all the cold parts of my head_

_in cups and coffee pots._

 

Lucius was much better at getting up and ready that day, though he looked no better than Draco. Nevertheless, he consumed his habitual morning coffee and left for the church where the funeral was supposed to be held.

It would be strange if neither of the Malfoy men made an appearance at the funeral.

 

_In the Winter I wonder_

_what it’s like to be anywhere else,_

_to be anywhere but here._

_If I leave and don’t return I hope the factories get full_

_of people making furniture, with_

_the river running clear._

 

Draco knew how difficult that day was for both he and his father. That’s why he wrote the song. It was a song to explain how both had dealt with such a significant day. Draco hoped that his father understood

 

_Sunday Morning fell_

_apart and back to sleep,_

_where I was running late,_

_where I looked out of place._

_Sunday Morning pace of steady, nervous feet_

_headed for the church doors._

 

Draco knew he should have gotten out of bed and went with his father to the church. But he couldn’t. The stress of it all made him fall asleep again, his last thoughts on the people who would be there to give their respects to his mother.

 

_Sunday Morning dressed_

_in suits and shades of black._

_Sunday Morning soft in Sunday best._

_Sunday someone’s never coming back here_

_to this place anymore._

 

Lucius had stood at the front of the church by his wife’s casket. It was an ostentatious affair, but Draco’s father thought that his wife deserved the best.

The elder Malfoy stared at everyone, the pews filled with somberly dressed people, hardly any colour among them. This truly was a gathering for someone that was lost.

 

_In the Winter I wonder_

_what it’s like to be anywhere else,_

_to be anywhere but here._

_If I leave and don’t return I hope the factories get full_

_of people making furniture, with_

_the river running clear._

 

Draco looked into the crowd, and he could see their faces, set in an expression of contemplation as they moved to the song. He wondered if the song made them think about similar experiences.

He wondered.

 

_Sunday Morning stared_

_at rows of crowded pews._

_Half or all asleep,_

_looking for a seat._

_Sunday Morning waiting for a call from you_

_but didn’t hear my phone ring._

 

Draco was skype called by his father for the entirety of the church service dedicated to his mother. The church was quiet and solemn, and there was no music playing. Nothing that his mother loved, except for flowers, which Draco couldn’t smell to see if they would be as sweet as the ones in his mother’s garden.

Draco didn’t realise he was crying until he noticed that the call had disconnected and all he could see was his reflection on his phone screen and not the casket with his mother inside.

Draco panicked, waiting for his father to call him back.

 

_Sunday Morning had_

_to sit and watch you bawl._

_Sunday Morning left the ringer off._

_Sunday Morning missed it when you called and_

_couldn’t do a thing_

_but watch._

 

Although at the time, Lucius’ and Draco’s relationship was not the best, his father couldn’t bear to see his son break down again and again, over seeing his mother’s lifeless body. So he didn’t call Draco again. And muted his phone. He felt helpless at being unable to soothe Draco’s pain, but Andromeda told him, as she sat beside Lucius, that all he could do was let grief run its course.

 

_In the Winter I wonder what it’s like to be where you are, where you are, where you are._

_In the Winter I wonder what it’d be like if you were still here._

_Would the factories fill?_

_Would the river run clear?_

_Would the river run?_

 

Draco had wondered for days whether his life would continue after Narcissa died, whether time would start again after it so dramatically stopped.

He remembered that day, lying in his bed, staring at the clock on his wall, wishing that the time would go back days, weeks, months, even years, back to when everything was fine and normal and carefree.

 

_Sunday Morning dreamt_

_about a moment passed,_

_about a time I failed._

_Sunday Morning I was staring at a clock, trying to push it back._

_Sunday Morning wished to be a kid._

 

Lucius had returned from the funeral with guests in tow, but he left them in the drawing room and went to check on his son. Draco was out cold, face pale and ashen, eyes flittering behind his lids. Lucius woke him up, telling him that there were people downstairs and that he should get dressed and go and greet them.

Lucius contemplated hugging his son but didn’t, and now, he still wondered whether that was the right thing to do.

 

_Sunday Morning shook_

_me all the way awake._

_Stirred me from the dream._

_Sunday Morning I was thinking of a phone call I should make_

_but never did._

_I never did._

_*_

They were at the last song. The last song of the night, and while singing these words for his mother helped, they were also bringing him close to tears. He had to wipe away his eyes on several occasions during the set

Colby, concerned, held him close for a few seconds when they had a small break, giving him some words of encouragement.

Lucius, in the stage wings, gave him a reassuring smile.

Bolstered, Draco closed his eyes as he focused on the opening chords of the song. This was a song not only for his mother but, his father as well.

_What will I find?_

_Some sacred thing to help me handle the tragedy?_

_Or did I once - Did I have it and lose it?_

_No one should ever have to walk through the fire alone._

_No one should ever have to brave that storm. No,_

_Everybody needs someone or something._

It was during his disappearance from England for 2 months that Draco thought about his father. How he was dealing with the love of his life being taken from him. Sure, they weren’t in love with each other, but Lucius had never loved someone as much as he loved Narcissa.

His father did not deserve to have such happiness taken away from him.

No one did.

_And when I sing, don’t I sing your name out_

_Right at the same time that I sing my own?_

A lot of who his father was, was also entangled around Narcissa. Many things that his father did, if it benefitted him, it benefitted Narcissa and vice versa. His parents were almost co-dependent on each other.

_Some days I swear I can feel you splitting the light through the window frame._

_The shapes it makes are always warmer, always brighter than the rest of what comes through._

_Some days I swear I can hear you sing to me or whisper my name in the slightest way._

_It’s like the warmest light now laid across my bedroom floor is somehow actually you and_

_Not just sunlight._

Draco thought about how his father must have sleepless nights, the simplest things reminding him of his wife. How the moonlight could cast shadows that resembled her silhouette, or how a breeze might carry her scent.

Draco often thought about how his father coped.

_I have the memory climb down the balcony._

_I put a flower on the back of its dress._

_It’s probably best to forget it._

_It’s probably best to let go._

_I paint it the shade of where the skin and the lip meet,_

_Only a moment after breaking the kiss. And_

_I blur out everything else._

_That’s how I choose to remember it._

Lucius locked away his feelings on the matter, and rarely spoke of things, until recently, when he began opening up to Draco.

His father hid that part of himself deep inside, and that was how he chose to grieve.

_Some nights are a lot like the days, I lay awake too late, I watch the shadows casted_

_Trace your shape. Those silver slivers on the wall then on the bedsheets._

_I hear your song in the trees. I finally fall into rest._

_Often later when I’m sleeping you show up in my dreams._

_Just doing simple things, like buying groceries._

_And when I wake up I could swear you must’ve just left me_

_Like you got up to make breakfast or maybe just to get dressed._

But dreams of his mother haunted Lucius, Draco knew this. Dreams of simplistic things: Narcissa gardening, playing the piano, humming along to the songs on the radio, speaking with servants. Dreams so commonplace that it seemed as if when Lucius woke up, Narcissa was just doing something else as opposed to staying in bed.

But Lucius knew that wasn’t true.

_But the truth is, you were never there. You won’t ever be._

_Sometimes I think I’m not either so what do I do_

_When every day still seems to start and end with you?_

_And you won’t ever know, you won’t ever see,_

_How much your ghost since then has been defining me._

_I leave the memory up atop the balcony._

_I tear this flower from the back of the dress._

_It’s best this time, I bet, to just forget and let go._

_Paint it the shade of where the lip bleeds and blur it out._

_I blur out everything else, just blur out everything else._

_And let go, and let go, and let go._

Something like this Draco knew Lucius had to let go of. Something _he_ had to let go of. Otherwise, it would affect them both for a considerable amount of time into the future.

_Everybody has to let go someday_

_Everybody has to let go._

_I wonder when I will. I wonder._

_But if I still hear you singing in every city I meet_

_After I blur it all out, our every memory, if_

_You never fade with the days, your shape still haunting me then,_

_Should I not just sing along?_

_Should I not just sing along?_

Draco stared up at the rafters as he sang, the threat of tears even stronger.

His father still carried on throughout his loss, even if something reminded him of Narcissa every day. Which it did. She was truly a part of both the men in her lives.

All they could do in her memory was to live their lives regardless.

That was all they could do.

And that hurt more than Draco could imagine.

_I will sing sweetly hope that the notes change but_

_I do not need it to happen. I’m not resigned to it. And_

_If they never do I’ll sing your name in every line._

_Just like I did throughout this. Just like I’ve always done._

_In every gun, the empty church, and every tortured son._

_In all those giving up. In all those giving in._

The tears started to flow freely as Draco relinquished the mic from the stand. It was all he could do before dropping to his knees and screaming the last lines of the song

_Until I die I will sing our names in unison._

_Until I die I will sing our names in unison._

_Until I die_

_Until I die_

_Until I…_

Draco broke down on stage; all the emotions he tried to keep a hold of before flooding him. He didn’t know how he managed to not give in before. He just cried, head held back.

He heard the shocked gasps of the audience, murmurs of concern and sympathy reaching his ears. He didn’t care.

All that mattered was that his mother was gone and was never coming back.

Warm arms wrapped around him and whispered words of comfort helped quiet the raging torrent of emotions inside of him.

“Draco, are you alright?” Lucius rocked him, entirely ignoring the audience.

Draco shook his head. “No, Papa. Please, _it hurts_.”

“Son,” Lucius murmured in his ear. “Where do you want to go?”

“Can you take me to Harry’s, please? I don’t want to be here anymore.”

Draco felt his father nod.

“Okay, Draco.”

The man helped Draco to his feet and led him off the stage.

 

***

 

Draco was a mess, that much Lucius could tell. His son had performed beautifully, his voice so similar to his mother’s.

It broke his heart to see Draco so destroyed by the death of Narcissa - to see his son still devastated by aftershocks wounded Lucius deeply.It had shaken their small family unit to the core. but The elder Malfoy had experienced many losses in his life and though the death of his wife still caused him tears, he could power through it.

But Draco. His precious Draco, who had never yet experienced such loss, who had to feel such pain, had written a song in dedication to him and Narcissa.

And when he collapsed on stage, the people around him, his bandmates and the audience, appeared ready to comfort him, regardless of whether he knew them.

How many people had his son touched with his music?

Lucius glanced at Draco in the passenger seat of his car, as he drove his son to Mr. Potter’s house.

He knew exactly when and where his son and Mr. Potter became romantically acquainted. It was a Saturday several weeks prior, and Draco had met him for dinner at this newly opened restaurant in Kensington.

Draco was absolutely radiant that night, and other patrons at the restaurant were hard pressed not to notice it.

Sources of his had told him that Mr. Potter was going to be at Draco’s apartment before he met with his father, so Lucius attributed his son’s happiness to his dark haired counterpart.

Lucius was also aware of their feelings, so, to Lucius, the reason for his son’s happiness was clear.

Potter had acted on his feelings for his son.

The elder Malfoy was glad that Draco had found someone to be with, and he knew that now Draco had found someone, he would try and find a partner for Lucius if he had not started looking already.

While he appreciated the sentiment, Lucius had no desire to find someone new.

It was not that Narcissa was his one and only, thought it would be a challenge to find someone even half as stunning as Narcissa was. Lucius simply held no interest in pursuing further romantic relationships. Years surrounded by people enraptured in the throes of romance had further affirmed this.

He was sure Draco noticed this as he grew up, though he and Narcissa tried to show Draco that there wasn’t a nuclear relationship model that everyone followed.

Regardless, he was touched by Draco’s song. Especially since the song never spoke of romance.

That caused Lucius to wonder whether Draco was aware of his own father’s orientation of sorts.

He wondered how it would affect Draco’s drive to find him someone. Lucius snorted at the thought.

He pulled up outside Harry Potter’s house, a modern detached house with steps leading to the front door.

“Draco, son. We’re here.”

Draco turned to gaze forlornly at him, his silver eyes brimming with tears. Sighing, Lucius got himself out of the car, then helped Draco out of the vehicle.

Leading his son up the steps, Lucius Malfoy rang the doorbell. On the other side of the door, he heard the muttering of someone wondering who was ringing their doorbell at this time.

Lucius thought such an inquiry was fair: it was 11pm. Still, he stood in front of the door, his arm around Draco holding him up, waiting for Harry to open the door.

He only waited a few more seconds before the door swung open, and Mr. Potter’s expression changed from one of annoyance to surprise.

“Mr. Malfoy! Draco? What are you doing here?”

At the sound of his beau’s voice, Draco threw himself into the arms of Mr. Potter, and Lucius watched in slight amusement as Harry tried to balance himself.

“My son asked to be in your presence and today I am wont to give him what he wants. Please do take care of my son, especially in his volatile state.”

“Wait what happened? Mr. Malfoy-”

“You can bring Draco back to the Manor tomorrow. Until then, goodnight, Harry.”   
Harry was startled at the use of his first name, though managed to recover.   
“Mr. Malfoy, wait-”

Lucius was already entering his car before the dark haired boy could say anything. The elder Malfoy watched as Harry’s arms tightened protectively around his son, and he smiled.

Draco was in safe hands tonight.

Lucius drove back to the Manor, where he spent his evening listening to his late wife’s favourite Proms CDs.

 

***

 

Harry ushered Draco inside into the lounge and stared down at his sobbing boyfriend in his arms, unsure of what to do. He had never seen Draco so emotional before, so he was at a loss.

“Draco,” Harry’s breath caused Draco to become quiet. “What’s wrong? You can tell me.”

Draco burrowed his head into Harry’s chest.

“Please not now. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Harry’s concern rose. “Draco. You just turned up on my doorstep,  _ with your father _ , might I add, in tears. I have a right to know what’s going on.”

Despite his tears, Draco let out a laugh, and his arms, which held onto Harry so tightly, loosened and started to venture across Harry’s torso.

“Uh, Dray?” Harry stuttered, unsure how to react.

Draco stretched to wrap his arms around Harry’s neck, kissing along his jawline, the action so sensual Harry was short of breath.

“Ssh, Harry,” Draco muttered in his ear, the blond’s damp face incredibly close to his. “I don’t want to think right now Harry. Just let me feel.”

Harry closed his eyes and he exhaled with a shudder.

“Please, Harry - help me feel.”

Harry pulled away and cupped Draco’s face with his hands, his boyfriend’s silver eyes puffy from his tears, determined.

“Are you sure Draco? Are you okay with this?”

Draco nodded. “Yes Harry, I’m sure.”

Slowly, Harry leant forward and placed a kiss on Draco’s lips. The blond moaned softly, his mouth parting to allow Harry’s tongue to enter, deepening the kiss.

Harry’s hands ventured beneath Draco’s top, and Draco broke the kiss with a gasp, his pale skin seemingly sensitised by Harry’s touch. Harry nuzzled into Draco’s neck, and silent tears began to fall again from Draco.

Harry caressed his lover’s face, and kissed away his tears, “It’s going to be alright,” slipping softly from his lips. Pulling the blond further into his house, Harry continued by kissing Draco more deeply, tongues moving in fluid motion together. Draco broke away again, this time taking off his jacket and his t-shirt, revealing to Harry his tattoos.

The dark haired male’s mouth went dry as he surveyed Draco’s body art.

He took his time exploring the living canvas of Draco’s body, lavishing his attention on each tattoo.

Harry began with the snake on Draco’s left arm starting from his wrist, placing kisses all over the tattoo, committing its iridescent pattern to memory, before reaching his nipple piercing, which he took into his mouth.

Draco exhaled sharply as Harry used his tongue to stimulate the reddening nub; once suitably ravaged, Harry moved onto the other nipple. The blond sobbed brokenly, legs trembling as he grabbed onto a chair to support him.

Harry glanced up at Draco’s face, watching as the blond came apart under his ministrations. This was the first time Harry was able to witness Draco like this, so he took care to take his time.

Harry made his way across Draco’s chest to his right arm, kissing each beautifully inked word that his boyfriend had on his skin. Harry dreamed of worshiping Draco’s body, now he finally had the chance.

He was paying particular attention to the dragon on Draco’s back - one that seemed to move independently of its owner, it’s serpentine body metallic and dark, and when Harry reached the head, which rested on Draco’s neck, the eyes were reminiscent of a basilisk - when he noticed a slash of colour peeking out the top of Draco’s jeans. When he undid them to get a better look, Harry’s eyes widened.

Draco had a skin rip tattoo. It was like the skin had been cut open, but instead of blood, a garden of beautiful flora was bursting out of it. Harry lost some rational brain function there and then. He could feel Draco smirking at him.

“If you want to see all of it,” his boyfriend began, face flushed from arousal. “You should take me to your bedroom.”

Harry nodded, before standing up. He grabbed onto Draco, lifting the blond up, who proceeded to wrap his legs around Harry’s waist.

As Harry walked them to his room, he attacked Draco’s neck again, adding to the blossoming garden of love bites there.

Reaching his bedroom door, Harry kicked it open, earning him a wide-eyed look from Draco.

“Harry?”

“Yes, Draco?”

The blond looked slightly nervous. “You’ll take care of me, won’t you?”

Harry’s expression softened, and he captured Draco’s lips with his.

“I will. Dray. I promise.”

 

***

 

It was the sun streaming through the window that woke Draco, though it was more welcome than attempts made by the star previously.

He stretched, and a slight twinge was felt in his lower half, alerting him to the fact that he participated in intercourse the night prior.

Draco panicked slightly. He didn’t recognise where he was - did he have a one night stand?

After nights like last night, when Draco was desperate for any form of intimacy, he would sleep with anyone. But now Draco was in a relationship. Infidelity would ruin that. 

However, memories of the night before came back to him in waves - the concert, his father driving him to Harry’s place, sleeping with Harry.

Draco sighed. Despite the circumstances of their first coupling, he didn’t regret it. He hoped that Harry didn’t either.

Extracting himself from the sheets of Harry’s bed, Draco located his boxers and grabbed one of Harry’s ridiculously oversized sweaters from the top of the clothes horse.

Padding to the kitchen, Draco saw a topless Harry making what he assumed to be breakfast, seeing as the clock on the wall stated that the time was 9:50.

Possibly hearing the noise, Harry turned and smiled at seeing Draco awake.

“Morning Dray. How are you?”

That smile paired with Harry’s topless state made Draco start experiencing certain feelings, and he blushed.

A part of his mind berated him for behaving like a 17-year-old virgin, but Draco ignored it.

_ Let me enjoy the view damn it! _

“I’m okay.” his voice was unexpectedly small, and Harry’s expression became soft.

“Alright,” Harry stated firmly before placing plated on a breakfast tray. “Head back to the bedroom?”

“What? We can’t eat breakfast in the bedroom! It’s unhygienic!”

“No arguing Draco. Back into bed.”

Draco pouted but nonetheless obeyed Harry’s order.

On Harry’s bed, they sat, facing each other, Draco practically straddling Harry’s lap as he ate the waffles Harry had prepared. They ate quietly, though Draco still mumbled about the indecency of eating in bed. He said it all in jest, however, so instead of getting annoyed, Harry just smiled at him.

It was one of the most intimate moments of Draco’s life. He felt completely exposed, yet, for the first time in his life, Draco didn’t want to shy away. He wanted Harry and only Harry to see him like this. He had never been this open in his other relationships. It was a good feeling.

They finished eating, and after setting their plates to the side, Harry took hold of Draco’s hands. 

“Draco, tell me about your tattoos. What do they mean?”

He looked at Harry. “Didn’t I already tell you about my tattoos?”

“The ones on your arms yes. You haven’t told me about your other ones, like the dragon, and your ripped skin.”

Draco smirked. “You really liked that tattoo didn’t you?”

Harry looked away and blushed. “It’s a beautiful tattoo.”

“Hmm.”

“Tell me about the rest of them Draco.”

Draco placed his hand on the head of the dragon on his shoulder. “The dragon could be considered narcissistic, as my name means Draco, but I love dragons. There’s something so encompassing about the dragon, depending on which culture you look at. They’re considered a representation of the forces of nature in some cultures, a symbol of knowledge and wisdom in another. They have incredible foresight. They easily represent good and bad, creation and destruction.”

“You really like dragons don’t you?” Harry smiled at him.

“I love dragons, Harry.”

“What about the skin rip?”

Draco shrugged. “It looked cool and I liked the [aesthetic](https://c1.staticflickr.com/4/3915/14695981568_f32d679b88_b.jpg) of it. It also reminds me that there’s possibility for beautiful things to exist inside me.”

“That’s beautiful Draco.”

He turned bright red. “Yeah, I guess.”

Harry pushed the sleeve up on Draco’s right arm to reveal the lines of German. “You promised me you would tell me what’s written here.”

“I did.”

“It’s Rilke right? My German’s shit, but could you recite the English version of it for me?”

Draco closed his eyes and leant back before beginning:

“ _ Angel! Were there an unknown place _

_ where, upon an uncanny carpet, lovers _

_ could disport themselves in ways _

_ here inconceivable-daring aerial manoeuvres _

_ of the heart, scaling high plateaus of passion, _

_ ladders leaning one against the other, _

_ planted trembling upon the void... _

_ Were there such a place, would their _

_ performance prove convincing to an audience _

_ of the innumerable and silent dead? _

_ Would not these dead toss down their _

_ final, hoarded, secret coins of joy, _

_ legal tender of eternity, before the _

_ couple smiling on that detumescent carpet, _

_ fully satisfied? _ ”

By the end, Draco had tears streaming down his face. Harry immediately wrapped his arms around him, whispering calming words into his ear.

“I’m sorry,” Draco whispered pulling away and wiping the tears from his eyes. “It was my mother’s favourite poem.”

Despite him not wanting to, the tears started to fall again, causing Harry to pull him close again.

“Yesterday was the anniversary of her death wasn’t it?” Draco could only nod and Harry pulled Draco closer to him, rocking him as he shed tears for his lost mother.

Draco soon calmed down, listening to Harry’s voice as his voice spoke of sweet nothings that comforted Draco nonetheless.

Draco smiled softly and, taking Harry’s face between his hands, tilted his head and kissed Harry. It was softly sweet, and Draco considered it one of the best kisses he ever had.

When they broke apart, Draco looked at Harry, and whispered, “I love you, Harry.”

Harry’s smile was almost as bright as the sunlight streaming through the window.

“I love you too Draco.”

They sat together, wrapped around each other and the morning sunlight.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs in this chapter:  
> 'Parachutes' by Coldplay  
> 'Toothpaste Kisses' by The Maccabees  
> 'Oak Street' by Knuckle Puck  
> 'Sunday Morning, at a Funeral' by La Dispute  
> 'You and I in Unison' by La Dispute  
> My Tumblr is helloparkingmeter.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> Songs in this chapter:  
> 'Radiate' by Enter Shikari  
> 'No Good' by Knuckle Puck  
> 'Harder Harmonies' by La Dispute  
> If you keep reading this, you'll become very familiar with Knuckle Puck and La Dispute as those were the bands I based (Messages) From Me To You off of.  
> Also, if you want to find me: go to helloparkingmeter.tumblr.com. Message me anything!


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